


Maestrom

by Ki_ru



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Blow Jobs, Cooking, Corgis, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, First Dates, Fluff, Food, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Jealousy, Kissing, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Past Relationship(s), Pet Names, Pining, Power Play, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trust Issues, Unresolved Sexual Tension, so much food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 17:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 60,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14794982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ki_ru/pseuds/Ki_ru
Summary: He loves pursuing challenges to his own detriment. Once he's conquered an objective, there's little keeping him rooted. He has personal ties with Specialist Seamus "Sledge" Cowden, enough that to my understanding he's invited Specialist Cowden over to visit his family.Sledge learnt to love a country, a culture, a language, a family and one man faster than he ever thought he would, which made crushing said love later a tedious and draining endeavour born from necessity and self-preservation. He thought he made it. He thought he was free. But, as always, Maestro is just too much.Now with a bonus chapter full of gratuitous smut and endless fluff :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My heartfelt thanks goes to [Mi723](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mi723/profile) or [Magehir](https://magehir.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for bouncing ideas back and forth, indulging me and infecting me with this ship in the first place. Also for proofreading!!  
> We actually already toyed with the idea of Sledge/Maestro before the first voice line leak and basically _screamed_ upon reading Maestro's bio. So I owe Ubi my thanks as well :)

The feeling has accompanied him for a while. Like tinnitus or a persistent cold that refuses to disappear, it’s always just _there_ , at the back of his mind, a low buzzing from a mosquito he’s just incapable of catching. Now that he’s sitting here, at the ever so familiar table, the chair creaking under his weight as usual, Six at the front of the room briefing them as usual, the large monitor behind her flickering as usual, there’s an odd taste in the air and Sledge thinks: _something happened_. Can’t even explain why, just somehow knows that his life is going to change soon.

It’s not that it’s been too quiet either, part of their organisation is still picking up the pieces after Operation Chimera and they’ve undergone some additional training, refreshers on procedures and none of them have been sitting still for an extended period of time. There’s been a normal amount of squabbling between certain operators that either manifests in icy cold silences (with Doc and Lion), heated arguments (between Ying and Fuze, for example) or an all out prank war that’s almost always initiated by Bandit. Sometimes, Sledge feels like he’s stuck on the wrong side of a daycare.

And yet he can do nothing against that sense of dread befalling him, slowly taking over like fuzzy mould. He’s waiting and holding his breath and when it comes, he’s not ready regardless. Couldn’t have been ready for this.

“- present to you our newest additions to Rainbow, stemming from the excellent and efficient Gruppo Intervento Speciale. I managed to recruit two of the finest operators who will be an invaluable asset to our ranks.”

_Oh_ , thinks Sledge and tries to take a peek at the files spread out next to Six in the hopes of sating his curiosity earlier. He shouldn’t be surprised, he knows the GIS is full of competent and passionate operators – some more than others – yet it seems an odd coincidence. Is this what his gut feeling has been about? Whoever is going to join them will dig up memories, that’s inevitable, but he’s not going to allow them to taint how he treats the newbies. He’ll do his best to be a clean slate, approach them as unbiased as possible.

“Meet the first one”, Six continues, the screen switching to a face Sledge hasn’t seen in a while and yet he says the name in his head simultaneously to Six’ even voice: “Aria de Luca, callsign Alibi.”

Impossible. Sledge barely resists the urge to shake his head in disbelief. Alibi is dead set on her priorities and principles and while Rainbow probably shares most of them in terms of world views, it’s nowhere near where Alibi would like to be, its goals ultimately similar yet different enough Sledge never would’ve expected her to join. While Six lists her achievements and introduces the rest of the room to this distinguished, determined and driven woman, Sledge attempts to reconcile his image of her with the one Six is painting right now yet fails at his task. He’ll have to ask his superior personally how she convinced Alibi later.

And then comes the punch to his gut. He let his guard down, too busy pondering Alibi’s motives, getting comfortable in the notion of having to unravel this secret. It hits him out of nowhere, full force, makes his heart skip a beat and his stomach drop, a nauseating sensation that reaches deep into his subconscious and drags up feelings he buried long ago, carefully and hiding all traces so he doesn’t get tempted to unearth them anymore. They’ve rotted in the meantime so there’s barely a skeleton left yet they reek of desperation and crawl with repulsing invertebrates.

“Adriano Martello”, Six seals his fate by giving the deceptively friendly-looking face behind her a name, “callsign Maestro.”

This answers his question. They’re joining together, Maestro undoubtedly having convinced her and vital to her presence, just like she is to his, a symbiotic partnership of which Six must’ve made use, of which she’s indubitably aware. No secret remains, they’re ultimately inseparable and will now even share space in Rainbow, coming here as a unit, their alliance forged so long ago it’s become unbreakable. Sledge notices his nails digging into his palms painfully and forces himself to unclench his fists, lean back in his chair and listen to the long and impressive enumeration of all of Maestro’s skills and accomplishments, most of which he’s familiar with. He’s good at what he does.

He knows where this is going, steels himself for the inescapable question and manages not to give anything away when Six turns to him. “My understanding is that you two are acquainted with each other. Would you help him get settled in when he arrives in two weeks?”

Eyes flit over to him yet he wavers not under the attentive gazes of his colleagues, his teammates especially looking at him in astonishment, probably wondering why they’re unaware of his ties to the GIS, why he never mentioned Maestro before. Neither of them is going to ask him why: Thatcher will try to squeeze out as much information as possible about him, Smoke is only going to make crude jokes and Mute will watch his every move from now on, insatiable curiosity fuelling him. Maybe he should talk to Mute voluntarily so he backs off. He’s got the best chances of figuring it out.

“Yes”, he hears himself say and is proud of how steady his voice sounds. “Of course.”

He was right. His life _is_ going to change.

 

~*~

 

Two weeks are enough as preparation. It takes him a few days to process the shock, to stop flinching internally whenever anyone mentions either of their names which happens regularly as he gets needled with questions about them. He stresses that he doesn’t know Alibi well whatsoever, has only heard stories of her and met her a few times in person but as he’s next to their only source on the undercover specialist, he gets approached regardless.

He has a lot more to say about Maestro yet keeps most of it to himself. His tales recount their joint operations in Iraq and some of the most obnoxious anecdotes he’s so fond of sharing so that everyone can immediately spot and interrupt them if he starts – Sledge recalls how he held up an entire mission for ten minutes once because his colleagues were so invested in his story. He has no qualms in describing Maestro as genuine, a born teacher and heavily focused on teamwork yet nothing of what he says comes close to painting a complete picture of the man. He’s always a little out of reach, defies any attempt to tie him down.

It’s impossible to make others understand his presence when they’ve never met him. He fills every room he enters, draws attention in like a magnet and prompts loose tongues, easy laughs and shared secrets; there’s always people in his orbit who admire him and some who envy to the point of hostility. He’s a force of nature, a thrumming net of electricity and energy, ready for mischief and action and if there is none, he’s sure to produce it himself. Unable to sit still for an extended period of time unless it involves teaching someone else, he’s -

He’s too much.

He hasn’t changed a lick, his beard impeccably groomed, his smile jolly, his voice booming. If he knew that Sledge evaluates him as unchanged, he’d probably be offended but as it is, he might as well have time travelled a few years into the future to meet the four SAS operators right here. Also, he knew. The expression with which he jumps out of the car even before he’s spotted Sledge indicates that he knew exactly who his welcoming committee was going to be. Moving with the grace of a panther, he approaches the Scotsman beaming and arms outstretched.

“Luce dei miei occhi!”, he yells towards him when he’s still too far away to comfortably start the greeting. Typical, he needs to be loud right from the get go. “It’s wonderful to see you, tesoro, you age like a fine Frascati, come here.” Sledge is already aware of the slightly disbelieving looks his teammates are giving him and imagines them to intensify as Maestro wraps him in a suffocating embrace and plants four smacking, wet kisses on his cheeks, alternating between his right and his left. He stands almost as tall as Sledge himself, his body just as strong and deadly and though his age shows, he’s someone to be reckoned with.

Even so, his display of affection is… not unwelcome. Sledge returns the hug and feels a stab upon realising how well the other man fits into his arms, endures the kisses with a soft smile and replies: “Good to see you too, Adrianito. You look different.”

“Oh, have you taken a course on flattery recently? It’s the one thing I couldn’t teach you, caramellino, no matter how hard I tried. And oh did I _try._ ” Mute next to him produces a noise that sounds suspiciously like a snort but morphs into a polite cough halfway. Sledge can’t blame him, he presents himself as reasonably serious most of the time, so having a handsome Italian drape himself all over him and shower him with kisses and cheesy nicknames is admittedly unusual. Still, the young Englishman will soon find out why Sledge merely gives in rather than refuses any of it – the more he struggles against the pet names and touches, the more adamant they will become.

As if on cue, Maestro turns to Mute with a blinding grin. “You must be Mark Chandar, correct? It’s a pleasure, I didn’t know the SAS includes stunning good looks in their requirements nowadays, I’m charmed.” And with that, he leans in for a cheek kiss, this one meant for the air and not skin since they only just met whereas Sledge and him have known each other for a while – however, Mute quite obviously never having been in contact with someone this affectionate before looks both shocked and lost as for what to do. Sledge can sympathise with him, remembers his own awkward encounters and merely watches with growing amusement as he fails to lean the right direction and makes Maestro kiss him square on the lips. “Are all of your cuccioli this forward?”, Maestro turns back to Sledge with a glint in his eyes while Mute looks like he just died a little inside. “Because if so, I’m going to enjoy myself immensely.”

Sledge imagines the other young operators’ reactions to Maestro – Glaz who appreciates peace and quiet more than any other, Rook who already turned pale at some of the anecdotes Sledge warned them of, Twitch who’s empathetic but doesn’t enjoy idle chatter – and suppresses a laugh. “Not even close.” Mute seems to begin to understand why Sledge usually reacted with a sigh first and foremost whenever he got asked about the Italian as he’s just regarding Maestro with a mixture of horror and genuine fear. He takes a while to warm up to people, so Maestro’s casual invasion of personal space indicates an alarming lack of respect for privacy.

All of Sledge’s smugness vanishes as soon as another figure nears their small group, this one much slimmer and dressed well, hair arranged neatly in a short style. Alibi is nothing but professional, steps up to him and greets him with two air kisses, barely touching his cheek with hers and a neutral: “Seamus.” She hasn’t changed much either, if anything she’s become more refined, distilled that which she values into the appearance of a success-oriented woman who is ready to serve the people. Compared to Maestro, she’s distant, reserved, efficient.

“Aria”, he responds politely. “I’m glad you’ve decided to join us. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

That, finally, coaxes the semblance of a smile out of her. With how curt he was the few times they’ve met, his greeting is akin to an apology and a promise to behave more cordially, a reassurance that there’s no bad blood. The admittance that she was never to blame. “Yes”, she says and sounds much friendlier than before, “me too. It’s an honour.”

They finish the introductions and Sledge is amazed to witness Maestro actually tripping over himself as he realises he’s speaking to _the_ Mike Baker, living legend and vain bastard. Alibi seems to be much more to Mute’s liking as she doesn’t blabber like a waterfall and is satisfied with a simple handshake thus sparing him the possibility of embarrassing himself in public a second time. Smoke has no preference one way or another, he’s superficially polite to everyone while he assesses their weak points and shelves them for later use though he does joke around with Maestro who jumps on the opportunity to sprinkle in a story of how he saved a child’s life just by being hilarious – a classic that Sledge has heard more than twenty times – to which Thatcher retaliates with a tale of his own.

Half an hour later they still haven’t gotten anywhere really, merely stored the Italians’ luggage in the rooms they’ll be occupying on the base seeing as they haven’t had the chance to organise different living quarters for themselves. Mute finally gets the hint and manages to drag Thatcher away before they spend another hour standing around doing nothing, after which Sledge gives them the full tour and introduces them to their future colleagues. They’re met with earnest friendliness and curiosity, even vague amusement when it becomes apparent that Sledge has to physically push Maestro around just to avoid him chewing someone’s ear off with his incessant talking whereas Alibi keeps it short and simple, garnering approval from the quieter operators.

Unsurprisingly, Lesion and Thermite immediately hit it off with Maestro – the two, like Smoke, have a more tongue-in-cheek approach to their work which appeals to the joyous teacher – though his compulsive flirting earns him a wide variety of reactions ranging from indignation over bemusement to honest appreciation. Mira yells something at him in Spanish that causes loud, full-bellied laughter from Maestro and a scandalised look plus a hissed scolding from Jackal.

It’s never been complicated to be in public with Maestro, not after Sledge realised that it’s impossible for anyone to capture and hold his interest for an extended amount of time. He hops between conversations like it’s a hobby, directs all his attention to someone he wants to impress, amuse or intimidate only to suddenly jump up and join someone else; he’s drawn to entertainment and has no qualms about _being_ that entertainment either. Sledge usually just watches him when he’s like this, amused by his inability to sit still. He once thought he didn’t mind because he knew Maestro would always return in the end, always make sure he wasn’t bored either, didn’t feel neglected. Now he’s got hindsight to help him decode himself: he’s known that this quality is impossible to change about him from the start, deep down knew it right away, looked at him and thought _this man will keep seeking out more interesting things_.

When Maestro is alone with anyone, it’s different: painfully intimate, too close, too personal. He has little respect for boundaries and next to no verbal filter, either doesn’t realise or doesn’t care when he oversteps a line. On his own, he’s volatile, dangerous, brutally honest and scary. Sledge is afraid of him. It’s why he tells Smoke to tend to Maestro, take care of anything he might still need, answer any residual questions, while he offers to do the same for Alibi. She accepts gratefully.

After the whirlwind that is her teammate, Alibi is a lake whose surface mirrors the night sky without any disturbance, composed, attentive, sensible. She soothes Sledge’s frazzled nerves even if her entire person causes a faint, dull hurt somewhere deep inside. She inspects her room thoroughly, tests the mattress and checks the view, opens the wardrobe and the desk drawers in silence, allowing for a brief respite. “I’ve heard good things about Rainbow”, she says, each word enunciated clearly and carefully.

“You can’t have heard much.” A small smile is his response, as if he missed a joke somewhere – he originally thought her sense of humour was purely based on dry sarcasm but realised much later that she often used subtlety to mock those around her without them noticing. “How is he doing?”

“I’ve been doing remarkably well, thanks for asking”, she answers sweetly. Ouch. That wasn’t clever, he should’ve known better. She’s proven fair and reliable, a gracious winner even if she never strived to compete, even if she refuses to accept that which she acquired through no fault of her own. “How are _you_ , Seamus?”

“Better.” He is better. Not better than the first few times they saw each other, not by a long shot, but better than she last heard. Much better.

“Glad to hear it.” She seems satisfied with his answer and somehow reminds him of his mum checking in on him, rewarding him with little things every time he admitted something was wrong, compelling him to talk about his problems. He’s not going to talk to Alibi about them. In fact, he’s not going to talk to _anyone_. “He’s great, as usual, no matter how many times he gets knocked over or shot down, he crawls back up. Might as well be invincible. His back is acting up again recently.”

“Don’t talk about him like he’s an old man.”

“He _is_ an old man. Almost ten years older than you.” Alibi peeks under the mattress and removes a handful of snappers without commenting on it. It seems she’s more than used to the classics that new operators have to go through. “He missed you, by the way.”

The world goes still. He knows how they talk to each other when they’re alone, no pretences, no sugar coating – if he told Alibi he misses Sledge, it’s because he misses him. No second thoughts, no agenda, no exaggeration, no being polite. _I missed him too_ , he thinks, his heart sinking. _I missed him so much_. “Is that it?”, he asks, voice thick.

She shrugs and takes out a tissue to wipe away the toothpaste from under the door handle. “He said he’s looking forward to seeing you again.”

“Alright.” He’s not sure whether it’s solace or poison, he only knows he needs some time to himself. He has no idea how he could think two weeks would ever be enough for him to come to terms with this, to digest the fact that Maestro would crash back into his life and stir up all the dust that’s finally settled. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

When he returns to the common room, he’s not at all surprised to find that Maestro has gathered an audience of willing listeners who perch on the chairs and sofas around him, eager to catch every word that falls from his lips. Sledge has never been part of his audience, his wild tales never impressed him. No, that wasn’t it. He walks past the small crowd over to where the younglings are huddled together, Glaz drawing as usual, Mute playing on his phone and Rook eavesdropping with a horrified expression.

“You look like you could use a drink”, Mute murmurs without even lifting his gaze. A bad sign – he must’ve noticed something. That, or he’s developed the skill of reading minds now. “Wanna go to the pub later?”

_I want to go home and hug my dog_ , Sledge thinks. “My dogsitter can’t watch Diana all evening. You can come over if you like.”

Sometimes, he extends the invitation hoping it’ll get declined but right now, it’s earnest. He can use the distraction, is actually looking forward to filling his apartment with voices and laughter and people he trusts. Mute glances at him and nods. “Sure. But only if James and I can do body shots.”

His words together with the shocked look from Glaz make Sledge snort and forget about the boasting Italian in his back for just a second.

 

~*~

 

Maestro’s laughing at one of his own jokes, bathed in the sunlight of late afternoon Italy, the shadows getting longer especially in the tiny alleyways lined with terracotta façades and seemingly tied together with clotheslines. The air is warm and stuffy, clings to his lungs and penetrates his being, fills him with a heat he has to get used to first before it morphs into a comforting presence. They’re in a pool now, playfighting and splashing each other, climb out and lie in the short grass, crickets chirping obnoxiously loudly and Maestro is licking his cheek repeatedly for some reason, it’s warm and wet and what is he -

Sledge wakes and blearily blinks at the furry face that’s right above his, much to its owner’s delight. As soon as Diana realises he’s awake, she starts dancing next to his pillow in excitement, tapping her little feet and panting. Seeing her softens the blow considerably and the fact that she allows him to drag her closer and bury his nose in her fur helps as well. She’s the light of his life and the sole reason he looks forward to coming home each day and right now, he’s fiercely grateful for her existence. He thought he’d be alright with Maestro’s presence but if he _dreams_ of him, it’s an indication that he’s really not. He never dreams unless something is wrong.

“Fuck”, he mumbles to himself and smiles when Diana sees this as her cue to sit down and beam at him expectantly. “Yeah, I’m hungry too. Let’s wake the two tumshies. But don’t bark at them if you don’t want James to throw a pillow at you again.” He pets her for a moment, scratches her head in between getting up and dressing and works up the courage to face the world again. As soon as he realises this means facing _Maestro_ again, the urge to just crawl back into bed increases manifold.

Regardless, he feeds Diana and brews himself a cup of tea which he takes with him to the living room and drinks while loitering in the doorway, watching the two outstretched bodies on his convertible sofa, blanket pooling by their feet, chests rising and falling slowly. They’re only wearing their boxer briefs, Mute on his back and Smoke wrapped around him, head resting on his chest and limbs tangled – it’s a rare moment for them to be this peaceful, vulnerable even and Sledge cherishes it even if the wide expanse of exposed skin together with his dream earlier conjure up a faint longing in him. A vague wish for something similar himself.

Them sleeping over was Mute’s idea and Sledge is grateful for the company now, grateful for not having to spend the morning alone even if the emptiness might sting even worse this evening because of it. He’s tempted to just let them sleep a little longer, feast his eyes on personified harmony but then Mute stirs, stretches and hums as Smoke presses even closer. In public and during the day, they’re stingy with actual touching (their words convey more than enough) yet the later it gets, the more they drift towards each other without even noticing until one of them lands in the other’s lap wondering how they got there.

“You’re off balance”, Mute slurs, sleep-drunk and probably hungover. His eyes remain closed but it’s obvious whom he means.

“No idea what you’re talking about”, Sledge replies and turns away to prepare two more cups. After he asked them not to, they didn’t mention Maestro at all during the previous evening and _still_ it’s on Mute’s mind.

“You don’t need to tell me, I’m going to find out regardless”, the young man calls after him.

There’s a chance he might not. Normally, Sledge would have no doubt he can uncover any sort of information yet in this case, there can’t be much in the files. If there was, he doubts Six would’ve asked him to show Maestro around and that means there’s no dirt for Mute to find. Every trace of the Italian has been carefully erased from his life, scrubbed clean over the years and only one piece of evidence remains that Mute undoubtedly will not connect to the whole thing. He could be safe.

Of course, Maestro would outright tell him if he asked. But that’s not how Mute solves problems. He doesn’t rely on verbal statements, trusts only what he can read black on white. He might be safe.

 

“Vita mia, every time I see you, you’re more handsome than before!” Lips on his cheeks, the soft beard tickling his skin, warm hands curling around his shaved skull to keep him in place as Maestro finishes what seems to have become a ritual during which nothing is required of Sledge apart from letting it happen. “Please tell me no one has snatched you from me in the meantime, as impossible as that may sound. You look so sharp you can cut glass, cioccolatino.”

In the relative quiet of the workshop, his booming voice carries exceptionally well and draws everyone’s attention – as intended, Sledge suspects. Whoever might not have heard of Maestro’s hearty greeting the day prior, now they can bear witness to a reenactment. Twitch especially watches them with a smile that fades a little upon noticing Sledge’s expression. Something in it must give him away, a remnant of the dream maybe or whatever it is Mute has seen in it as well, so he cautiously tries to rearrange his features into something brighter. “How are you settling in, Adrianito?”

The nickname that rolled over his tongue so naturally the day before now strikes him as a concession almost, seems to expose their former closeness and Sledge’s preoccupation with it. He probably shouldn’t use it, not even next to Maestro’s exuberance. The added syllable pales before his flattery and exaggerated terms of endearment yet Sledge isn’t known for using nicknames as it is, has often stressed he dislikes them. However, it’d be suspicious if he changed it now, an indication of _something_. Mute would pick up on it. He’s already watching them quite closely.

“I would definitely sleep better with your arms wrapped around me, your breath in my hair and your hand on my dick, cuore mio, but I’ll make do for the moment. This absolute angel of a woman who is ten times smarter than I am is currently explaining to me how this futuristic robot head will help me provide those terrorists with several additional assholes and I have to say, I’m intrigued. Please continue, dolcezza, excuse the interruption – should I disturb your technical birdsong once more, you have full permission to slap me though I must warn you that I might end up liking it.”

Twitch is looking from one to the other, visibly torn as to which part of what Maestro just said warrants a reaction the most, whether it was the quite obvious pass at Sledge, the just as direct pass at _her_ , the probably wildly inappropriate and simply wrong description of the gadget in her hands or just the entirety of it. Sledge can’t blame her for gaping. Maestro is a handful, even if you happen to have large hands like Sledge. “I uh”, she starts, attentive brown eyes boring into her skull and clearly detrimental to her composure, “well. As I was saying, this is the so-called CLE-V or Cleave, a Compact Laser Emplacement that’s also fitted with a camera.”

“Looks mean. And it doubles as a camera? Oh, that makes it an evil eye, no? Madonna, I can’t believe I’m going to curse my enemies. Did you know it was going to come to this, luce dei miei occhi, that I’d join the dark side?” Maestro jabs Sledge in the side, seeking approval whereas Twitch looks increasingly frustrated. From what Sledge knows about the extremely loose schedule set for Maestro during his first couple of days on base, they must’ve begun the gadget briefing about an hour ago which he figured was enough time for them to get to a close before Sledge takes him to his checkup with Doc. However, if Twitch hasn’t even gotten to the part where she explains what the Cleave _is_ , Sledge can only imagine the amount of stalling and topic switching Maestro must’ve done. It also seems like Echo finished briefing Alibi a long while ago.

“How does it work?”, he takes pity on Twitch who shoots him a grateful look for keeping them on track before she begins to reply, only to be interrupted by Maestro yet again. “Adrianito.” The nickname together with a gentle hand on his back silence him, maybe even startle him into quiet as he doesn’t seem to expect the gesture, wasn’t ready for Sledge’s thumb to dig into the tense muscles along his spine, for his palm to simply rest on Maestro’s body. A minute later Sledge realises that he surprised himself with the familiar motion as he hasn’t heard a single word of what Twitch is finally allowed to expand on seeing as Maestro is relaxing under his hand, maybe even leaning into it. Sledge withdraws again, pushes the tingling offender into his pocket and attempts to follow the technical jargon yet remains slightly shaken up to the point where he can finally inform Maestro of his next obligation and watch his broad frame exit the room.

“Thank you”, Twitch turns to him with a sigh, “he was driving me up the wall. Also, he tried to tell the story of how an incriminating photo of him once saved his life and just laughed when I made the mistake of saying I’ve heard it before – you know, because now he knows you’ve warned us.”

“He’s probably noticed a while ago, don’t worry.”

“Yo, Seamus!”, Mute calls from the other end of the room and that’s right, he _was_ here the whole time, wasn’t he. “What does it mean what he calls you? The long thing, the rest I can pretty much guess.”

This sounds like a conversation they shouldn’t have with everyone else listening in, so Sledge flashes Twitch a quick smile that’s immediately reciprocated and walks over to where Mute is doing God knows what with what looks like an ordinary light bulb. “Light of my eyes”, he translates curtly, prompting a sceptical eyebrow.

“Really? Why does he call you that?”

_Because he doesn’t know when to quit. Because he remembers how much I liked it._ Sledge doesn’t really know how to answer without giving everything away. “He likes to give everything and everyone nicknames, I believe yours is cucciolo, which means puppy.”

For some reason, Mute does not seem happy about this revelation. “But he calls you different things all the time. He just talks too much, I find it hard to imagine that he’s actually competent after listening to him prattle on about pretty much nothing to Manu for an hour.”

“You know how people normally find it difficult to concentrate on talking and another, more focused task at the same time?” Mute nods. “I have no doubt that he’s currently on his way to check Aria’s room and were he to find a missing light bulb, he’s going to inform her and _you’re_ going to have a healthy dose of salt poured into your tea later. That, or your tools mysteriously end up in a tree or the next time you try to put on your uniform, one leg will be sewn shut and you’re going to eat shit.”

The young man just stares at him in disbelief. “But what -”

“His talking makes him neither deaf nor blind nor unobservant. What it _does_ do, however, is make you underestimate him. If this really is from Aria’s room, I’d suggest you take it back without meddling with it.”

He still doesn’t seem convinced – or rather suspects there’s more to it. “You touched him.”

“It’s meant to tell him he needs to dial it back a little. Sometimes he gets caught up. I have to go, I’ll talk to you later, Mark.” Sledge feels Mute’s gaze in his back until he finally rounds a corner.

 

Diana’s ears twitch, shoot up and it’s all the warning Sledge gets before she starts barking excitedly, zooms out into the hallway just as the doorbell rings, her claws clacking on the floor as she dances around in front of the apartment door, alternating between a suspicious _boof_ and high-pitched _yips_. Sledge has returned home five minutes ago himself, barely taken off his shoes and only just peered into his fridge to decide which unappealing-looking container of leftover food he’s going to consume today. Sighing, he closes his prison for various species of mould and follows his dog to the door, making the mistake of not checking who’s behind it.

“Caro mio, it’s next to _impossible_ to get your charming friends to reveal your address, but after I -”

He closes the door again. Shuts it right in his stupid face with his stupid expressive eyes and the stupid well-maintained beard, and resists the urge to bury his own face in his hands. Diana by his feet is looking up at him worriedly – he broke protocol, either he lets his guests in or leaves the door, he doesn’t usually hover between the two. She doesn’t know what he’s doing and neither does he. Before he can convince himself to just crawl into bed and contemplate existence, his hand is back on the handle and pulls the door once again. This time, the boisterous persona is gone, instead Maestro just waits patiently for him to speak up. “Who told you where I live?”, he wants to know and doesn’t miss the amused twitch of the Italian’s lips when he notices the resigned tone of voice.

“I’d never reveal my sources, tesoro.”

Sledge examines him for longer than necessary, takes in his tight trousers and fitted shirt and remembers suddenly, vividly, how he thought _this man is going to ruin me_ at some point during the early stages of their acquaintance. He’s always been a sharp dresser, vain and very aware of himself though self-awareness with him rarely leads to self improvement. He smells different, which is a relief, Sledge once encountered someone who wore the same cologne as Maestro used to and almost shot himself in the shin. Apart from that, he’s carrying two bags with what looks like groceries and it’s not hard to imagine what he’s got planned with them. “Are you here to use my kitchen because the one at the base doesn’t even have a whisk?”

Regardless, he steps aside, allowing Maestro entry and relieving him of the bags he carries into the kitchen. “I’ll have you know I’m gravely wounded by your distrust as I’m here simply to cook for you and then disappear into nothingness if you so wish. Besides, I can make a risotto without a whisk.”

He peers into the bags and spots a box of ladyfingers as well as some mascarpone that he puts away in the fridge just to be safe, together with the other perishable goods. “But not a tiramisu. Did you choose the most generic Italian dishes on purpose or have you finally decided to listen to your mother about respecting your roots?”

“Knowing your eating habits, I couldn’t count on your spice rack to contain more than salt and vinegar, so almost all of the more exotic recipes weren’t even worth considering. And yes, tiramisu needs to rest for a few hours but I can’t eat much of it anyway, so it’s no problem if it’s not ready by the time I have to leave. Consider it a gift and an alternative to all that candy you insist on ruining your stellar body with.”

“I’ve actually stopped doing that, you know.”

“Madonna, really? I bet you were an insufferable bitch on chocolate withdrawal. Also, your dog is _adorable_ , what’s her name?” His voice is coming from suspiciously close to the ground, so Sledge sticks his head out and finds Diana lovingly gazing up at Maestro who unselfconsciously just sat down right in the middle of the corridor and is showering her with attention, scratching the back of her neck and petting her ears gently. After not even five minutes, he’s already dragged the corgi onto his side and Sledge has no doubts he’ll charm him as well, somehow. He won’t let it get too far but how can he keep his distance when Maestro knows him so well?

“Diana”, he replies evenly and isn’t surprised at the amused snort. “Come on, let’s cook. I’m hungry.”

“We’ll have to make the tiramisu first, biscottino, so be patient.” Maestro gets up with a groan and Sledge is about to drop a remark about neither of them getting any younger when it hits him that he’s _here_ , after how many years? He’s always wondered how he’s doing, whether he’d know if he… if something happened. His presence still cuts like an extremely sharp knife: easily and without pain at first until he realises he’s soaked in blood. Even so, it’s an immense relief to see he’s doing fine and so he wordlessly pulls him in. They hug in comfortable silence, their chins on each others’ shoulders, arms wrapped around warm bodies and hearts beating fast in unison. There’s so much to say and so much that needs to be said but their lips are sealed and their words suppressed.

Maestro is the object around which Sledge’s arms have been moulded, the only one that fits without leaving any room, without sitting askew; he sinks into them like warm wax and draws simple patterns on Sledge’s back with his fingertips. Neither of them moves for a long time, so long that Diana begins to become impatient, prowls around them and finally causes Sledge to withdraw, meet Maestro’s fond smile with a softened expression of his own. “You did lose weight”, he states and strokes Sledge’s sides for a moment.

“If you sing Verdi instead of Puccini, I’ll count that as a compliment and choose not to be offended.”

A decisive nod. “Deal.”

 

It’s said that old habits die hard but in Sledge’s case, he meticulously squashed them one by one, eradicated the ones he associates with full-bellied laughter, sunsets, small churches with dust dancing in the rays falling through the stained glass windows. He never considered himself romantic and after that brief period during which he was tempted to change his mind, he banished all that could fall under that term from his life. No more grand gestures, no more lavish gifts, no more whispered declarations.

Hearing Maestro belt out one of the many tearjerkers from Verdi’s operas, full of hopeless and helpless confessions of love, brings it all flooding back. He never shared any of it with his colleagues and friends, this was his and his alone, first out of conviction no one else would actually be interested in hearing about the beauty of Mediterranean architecture or the beauty of Mediterranean men, and then out of bashfulness fiercely guarded from his friends’ eyes. He was taken by storm and relished in the bright, vivid, almost _painful_ magnificence of all of it, the long walks, the sublime food, the melodic language, the genuine displays of affection; fell in love with a country and a region and a family and one man.

He read up on the culture, attempted to learn the language, listened to endless stories and continued to pursue none of it afterwards. Reading hurt, speaking hurt, listening hurt, even _thinking_ , and so he discarded it all, surrounded himself with people that remind him of the ones he grew up with, who combine various qualities that he admires and cherishes. Mute, Smoke and Thatcher are familiar, even predictable in a way, and he can’t put into words how much he appreciates their existence, their presence, their friendship. But even so, neither of them, not even all of them together can ultimately plug the hole that was left by a brilliance so vicious in its uniqueness, ruthless in its endeavour to change his life.

They’re in Sledge’s kitchen that’s really too small for two people, preparing a meal that’s simple enough not to require their full attention, but simultaneously, they’re in Maestro’s flashy apartment – and of course it’s flashy, he knows modesty yet humility is a foreign concept to him. It’s flashy for the same reason that his clothes are expensive: because he can afford it, because he believes that’s what people who have money should own. Dancing around each other even in the expansive space, Maestro giving needlessly complex instructions just through gestures so he doesn’t have to interrupt the especially depressing part of the song until he gets fed up with Sledge’s inability to follow them – born either from the desire to have Maestro explain in detail and tack on a lengthy story that’s semi-relevant or from actual incompetence. They would’ve been preparing something much more demanding and Sledge would end up loving it, even if it’s made from a variety of ingredients that he despises on their own and none of it makes any sense, Maestro managed to make a positive out of nothing but negatives. He’d grin smugly, insult Sledge’s shrivelled taste buds and explain to him what _exactly_ he’s supposed to be tasting even though with the amount of wine Maestro sipped while cooking, half of it is probably made up.

Even though Sledge’s mood is more subdued now, Maestro is his usual self, bustling, impatient and still somehow inefficient. Despite the lack of high-value cookware, the risotto comes out perfect: creamy, rich and delicious. They eat at the tiny kitchen table that’s somehow more than sufficient even though Maestro’s mere presence seems too great for the apartment alone. Sledge offers him a beer just to induce a mini heart attack and Diana rests by their feet, knowing not to beg at the table but still seeking company.

It’s deceptively easy to fall back into tried and trusted attitudes, so while they discuss what they’ve been doing with their lives in the meantime, discuss Rainbow and Maestro’s family, they bicker and eat the tiramisu that’s by no means done but they’re eating it anyway. Maestro is lounging on Sledge’s armchair that he stole wordlessly, undoubtedly knowing it’s not his to take, Diana sleeping on his lap, the little traitor, and he looks like he belongs here. Actually, he sticks out like a sore thumb, an exotic piece of art in an otherwise plain flat (but hasn’t it always been this way? He’s sun, wine, gentle hills and cosy alleyways whereas Sledge is drizzle and cheap alcohol) yet with how he carries himself, there’s no place in the world where he’d rather be.

And then he says it. Sledge can’t believe his ears, needs a second just to process the words, the audacity, the _gall_. He checks the oversized watch on his wrist where it’s already left a lighter band in contrast to the tanned skin. “Oh, it’s getting late.” Sledge just _looks_ at him, thinking: _If ‘I should leave’ aren’t the next words out of his mouth, I’m never letting him into the flat again._ “I don’t have a car yet, do you think I could -”

“I’ll call you a taxi”, Sledge interrupts him, gets up and steps into the kitchen where he can allow himself to tremble with rage unseen. His first impulse is to crush something between his hands but no, that’d be entirely unproductive and he’s over him, remember? Just because he took a trip down memory lane doesn’t mean all the progress he made in the meantime has to come undone. So he calls the cab and returns to pleasant conversation that’s a tad colder now and doesn’t miss the glint in Maestro’s eyes.

That’s what he was doing. Testing his limits. It’s entirely possible that agreeing to letting him stay would’ve lead to an easier outcome, maybe weighed his heart down for a month or two but then they’d go back to being colleagues. Maestro loves nothing more than challenges, so denying him that temptation by giving in immediately is certainly an option. He might’ve just signed a declaration of war.

Once he’s gone, Sledge sits in front of the TV, unaware of what’s being shown on the flickering screen and finishes the entire tiramisu.

 

~*~

 

The door to his office flies open with a bang, making him jump and glance up in annoyance until Mute’s expression registers. It’s a mix of suspicion, anger and triumph which forms an odd combination that leaves him looking haughty as he quickly shuts the door and plops down in the chair in front of Sledge’s desk. “Do you have a moment?”, he asks breathlessly and it’s safe to assume he _ran_ here. That doesn’t bode well.

Sledge examines the pile of paperwork in front of him, takes note of the unread email counter that’s rising slowly and rubs his temple. “No.”

“Okay, so”, Mute is entirely undeterred and Sledge puts down his pen with a sigh, “were you two together?”

It’s been a few weeks since the two Italians have become a part of Rainbow though they spent a lot of their time not on base, instead trained with some of the other operators for a week and got roped into various other activities: Maestro recently started boxing against Smoke with mixed results and Alibi has a friendly competition going with the GIGN concerning her exemplary marksmanship. Whenever he finds the time, Maestro stops by for a quick chat and they’ve met two more times outside of work, once going out for drinks and once playing billiards. It was pleasant, admittedly, soothing some of the dull ache deep inside and kindling the hope that they’ll end up as friendly co-workers after all.

And so it doesn’t feel like an impossible step to calmly return Mute’s searching gaze and reply: “Yes.”

Mute halts mid-objection when he realises that Sledge just _agreed_. “What? I mean – I mean you and Maestro.”

“I’m aware. And yes.” The young man blinks at him incomprehensibly. “You wouldn’t have asked unless you were sure. Why act surprised?”

“Honestly, I expected you to deny it. Now I can’t even brag about how I found out.”

“Why would I deny it? It’s true.”

Now Mute looks completely lost. “But you were so _weird_ about it and didn’t say anything. Neither of you did. I thought it was meant to be a secret.”

“Neither Ying nor Echo said anything about their past relationship, did they?”

“No, but she almost broke his drone _again_ during her first week here, so it was pretty obvious.”

“Don’t fault us for being more mature then. You could’ve asked outright and both of us probably would’ve told you.”

“So what actually happened?”

He’s got three possibilities now: deflect, tell the truth, tell a diplomatic half-truth. Aversion is not going to help, however, not with how persistent and stubborn Mute is and especially not now that he knows to approach Maestro directly. The truth is what Sledge is trying to keep under wraps, for both their sakes – it’s unnecessary gossip, could possibly divide the people close to them, would expose scars from wounds that have long healed. No one needs to know the full truth; Sledge is fine and with how eagerly Mute is attempting to unravel the mystery he probably wouldn’t hesitate to antagonise Maestro whenever possible as soon as he found out. So white lies it is. “We met in Iraq, during a joint operation – you probably know that.”

A hesitant nod. It seems as if Mute’s info is full of holes so Sledge should have an easy time filling them with harmless stories.

“We became friends, then we became more than friends but in the end, it didn’t work out. It was a number of reasons: the geographical distance, the clashing work schedules, you can imagine how hard it is to even stay in contact while being part of completely different organisations. So we called it off and separated.” Short and sweet, but most of all: believable. A neat explanation, made up on the spot and since Mute doesn’t actually know any better -

“Then what’s stopping you from picking it up again?” Sledge blinks at him. _Excuse me?_ Mute notices his astounded expression with a frown. “You’re both in Rainbow and we’re here to stay. If it’s just that, why not try again?” He’s speechless for a moment and it’s all Mute needed to slam his fist on the table, making him jolt once again. “I fucking _knew_ something was wrong! Don’t lie to my face, Seamus. If you’re not going to be honest with me, then I’ll squeeze it out of him instead and there’s nothing you can do.” Agitated, he jumps up, ready to act on his words yet hesitates when Sledge softly speaks his name.

“I’d rather you didn’t”, he adds quietly. “I’d like you to hear it from me. Give me a few days, I’ll talk to him and then I’ll tell you. Alright?”

“What, you want to make sure your bloody stories match?”

_Yes_. “No.”

Mute rolls his eyes before muttering: “Yeah, whatever. I can’t force you to talk about your problems.”

“There is no problem.” He keeps repeating the statement to himself long after Mute has stomped out of his office.

 

It seems as if he won’t find peace anytime soon. The singing that’s already audible from _outside_ due to the open kitchen window reverberates even louder in the staircase, muffled yet distinct and indicative of its source: Sledge’s apartment, without a doubt. He never once stops sighing tiredly on his way up the steps and takes a deep breath before unlocking and walking through his door – it says a lot that Diana doesn’t even hear him over Maestro’s baritone but she makes her presence known all of a sudden when he holds a note with his impressive vibrato: she produces a noise that first has Sledge thinking she’s hurt before he realises that no, she’s just howling. He’s never heard her do that before, is familiar with all the cute variations of her barks and growls but she’s never done this, not a full-fledged howl that sounds as if it’s coming from the loveliest baby wolf.

Maestro quite obviously didn’t expect it either since he breaks down laughing and now Sledge peers around the corner to find the Italian, dressed casually (for his standards) and looking right at home, preparing another meal whose contents are as of yet unknown. He’s even donned an apron and the sight of him grinning down at Diana who sits by his feet, ears standing up attentively, is ridiculously endearing. Neither of them have noticed him yet. “Let’s do that again, principessa”, Maestro addresses the corgi lady who looks ready to follow his instructions to the letter and strikes up a note, gradually getting louder while Diana just tilts her head curiously until she finally joins him with a half-hearted _rooooo_ that’s by far the most adorable thing Sledge has heard all week.

They need to repeat the performance a few times before Diana feels confident enough for a proper second howl for which Maestro praises her profusely, kneeling on the kitchen floor and rubbing her belly until they finally notice Sledge watching them, Maestro with a blinding yet bashful smile and Diana with an excited bark and a butt wag. “Enjoy the concerto, tesoro? Your princess is gifted, did you know?” He gets up and, once again, it’s four kisses to Sledge’s cheeks, each one longer than the one before. He’s never seen Maestro do more than three to anyone outside of his family.

“How did you get in?”, he wants to know and doesn’t even sound as tired as he intended. He’s trying very hard not to think about how domestic it all is, to come home to his dog and a stunning Italian who’s preparing food for him after a long day, how nice it feels to find his apartment the opposite of empty. It happens often enough that someone drops by, friends from the SAS or other operators like Blitz but it’s still somehow not the same.

“I made tabbouleh and a chickpea tajine that’s basically done, the only thing missing are the pine nuts roasted in honey. I also took the liberty to equip your kitchen with the necessary spices. You didn’t even have _curry_ , were you aware of that?” It’s as if Sledge never asked his previous question and so he plays along for the moment.

“What are either of those things?”

“Tabbouleh is a salad and tajine a special cookpot but since you didn’t have one it basically turned into a stew, I suppose. And curry is a mix of different -” He trails off in a laugh when Sledge shoots him an unamused glare, lifting the lid of the pot that’s happily bubbling on the stove and releasing a delicious smell into the air that reminds Sledge more of refreshingly cool late summer nights than Maestro himself. “You’re going to like it, trust me.”

“Of course I’m going to like it, _you_ made it. Even if it’s going to make my desensitised British taste buds explode, according to you.” It’s enough chitchat, there are two questions he wants answered before he touches any of the food. “Did someone let you in?” A thought occurs to him and under Maestro’s watchful eye, he checks for his spare key in the corridor but finds it in the key cabinet where it’s supposed to be. Confused, he walks back behind Maestro and shoves his hands into the front pockets that are barely big enough to accommodate his hands yet he manages to pull out his phone, wallet and the object he was looking for: his keys.

Maestro just chuckles in response to the blunt gesture and grabs his wrists when he tries to withdraw, pulls him in closer and wraps Sledge’s arms around himself. He’s warm and smells good, so Sledge tightens his grip for a moment, pulls the muscular body against his own and wonders how they always end up hugging in his kitchen. It’d be so easy now to kiss the nape of his neck, allow his arms to travel down a little, to implicitly give his consent to Maestro doing to him what he wants. So easy, and so tempting. The kitchen was always his favourite room to be in with Maestro, no matter where they were, whether it was his expensive apartment, the tiny room in Iraq that Maestro saw as a personal offence to him and everything he stands for or the extensive chamber at his family’s house – the home that all the children of the Martello clan bought together for their parents.

He brushes his nose over the soft skin behind Maestro’s ear and steps away, inspects the keys on the ring more closely until he finds one that looks suspiciously familiar. “Did you seriously swipe my spare key and make a copy?”, he sighs unnecessarily because it’s _very_ clear that’s exactly what happened. His only response is a mischievous smile and an outstretched hand that demands the keys back. Sledge obliges. These kinds of things were never an issue, they always relied on each other in this – he knows Maestro is not going to abuse this power, trusts him fully not to invade his privacy more than he already does. Not being able to cook is detrimental to Maestro’s general mood, so if he can alleviate that _and_ even benefit from the result, he’ll do it. Still. There are other kitchens he could’ve chosen, he seems to get along well enough with Smoke. “Why are you here?”

“I’m off rotation for the week, so I’ll have short days. I thought I could come over and make sure you don’t end up dying of scurvy. Plus I know that you at least are not going to snort my ras el hanout.”

That last part is fair enough even though he’s not satisfied. “No. Why are you _here_?”, he emphasises and Maestro seems to understand. They could’ve avoided each other, become distant acquaintances, left it at polite interactions. They could’ve also made an effort to become friends again, catch up, stay in contact and keep up a comfortable distance. Instead he’s here, in Sledge’s kitchen, singing a duo with his dog and promising to cook for him whenever he has the time.

For once, the answer doesn’t come easily to the Italian, prompting him to lower his gaze as he seems to gather himself. “I want to make amends”, he finally says so earnestly Sledge believes him even though he’s unsure as to what that entails.

“You want to apologise?” It’s a good start even though his approach is odd. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Maestro -

“No. I want you back.”

 

The first thing that flits through Sledge’s mind is _no way_. Then: _absolutely not_. And then it finally registers what Maestro is asking of him, that he’s hoping for him to just… forget about the past years, simply gloss over all that happened, all that he did. He seriously wants to undo it all, build back up what he callously demolished, ask not only for forgiveness but a second chance – something he neither deserves nor, under any circumstances, should ever be granted. He did enough, back then Sledge swore to himself _this is enough_ , he will never let anyone hold that much power over him again. He did enough to ruin Sledge.

It’s inconceivable to him how Maestro can stand here, say these words and expect him to not sock him, throw him out, refuse to ever speak to him again. His body is tingling where they were touching just minutes ago yet it’s not pleasant, he wants to wash off his scent, cleanse his flat and even discard the food that suddenly looks like poison to him. A slow-acting one, infecting his mind with delusions, false hope, empty promises that bloom into a beautiful plant that is as magnificent as it is lethal. Were he looking for death, despair, regret – he found them. They’re staring him right in the face and all he needs to do is agree and they’re his. Oh, there’s a special offer on, he’d get crippled self worth for free.

“Get out”, he says quietly. His voice doesn’t allow anything more, it’s as much in shock as the rest of his body is, causing a nauseating feeling that’s an old companion of his that he first met right after Maestro tossed his heart into the sea with a pleasant smile and something that wasn’t even an excuse.

To Maestro’s credit, he doesn’t need to say it twice. He leans against the counter and waits, observes out of the corner of his eye how Maestro drags it out regardless. He takes off the apron, stores it where he found it, digs up a piece of paper and a pen, scribbles something on it that’s probably instructions on how to finish the dish before saying goodbye to Diana with a few whispered words full of admiration and a kiss to her head. There is no way he didn’t expect this, not with how casually he puts his shoes back on and even has the gall to address Sledge still. “Seamus.” His name sounds odd coming from lips that usually spew nothing but sickly sweet sugar. “I’m serious.”

And with that, he finally leaves.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, all my thanks to [Mi723](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mi723/profile) or [Magehir](https://magehir.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for proofreading!♥♥
> 
> Also, if there's one non-ship aspect I'm allowed to introduce to Rainbow as canon, I choose Diana.

Sledge’s plan to to avoid basically everyone for the next week gains unexpected yet tragic support the very next day. He comes in early only to find out there’s a hostage situation in Spain with which the local forces seem overwhelmed, sending the entire base into a flurry of movement and preparations. The team is quickly assembled: the two Spaniards go to facilitate cooperation, Glaz is needed for overwatch and a few others are thrown in due to possible necessity of their gadgets or simply as skilled ground operators. Despite the fact that she’s new, Sledge insists Alibi go with them and so they immediately leave while Sledge and Thatcher both scramble to gather information and prepare to provide long distance support. The whole affair is gruelling and drawn out, especially since live updates are hard to come by once the order has been given to storm the supermarket and so, for a while, they have nothing to do but sit still and pray everything will end up fine.

When they finally receive a preliminary report, it’s optimistic yet not without barbs: the perpetrators have been neutralised one way or the other and the hostages freed, though two of them ended up severely wounded and had to be rushed to the nearest hospital. Additionally, Glaz left his post during the mission as he thought he saw unexpected movement in one of the windows, suspecting an ambush. What was meant as a safety precaution on his partwhichhadn’t been cleared with the mission lead ended up almost getting him killed when the kidnappers opened fire on him, now alerted to the other ops’ presence.

They return late, most of them relieved and coming down from their adrenaline high and Sledge can’t help but praise them before dismissing them for the day, wishing them a restful night’s sleep. Except for Glaz, whom he asks to see in his office. He planned a debriefing that slowly worked towards identifying Glaz’ mistake as well as the complications it caused, ultimately serving as a reminder of proper procedures but wasn’t prepared for the ashen-faced Russian to sit down and immediately list all his shortcomings that day. It’s clear he’s thought about it extensively, is aware of his reasons for acting the way he did and has already worked out a solution. He’s harsher to himself than Sledge would’ve been and somehow the stern talking to that he intended turns into a gentle attempt to build Glaz’ confidence back up – a job for which he doesn’t feel qualified whatsoever. In the end, he just gives Glaz a reassuring pat on the back and sends him home.

Sledge himself returns past midnight with a guilty conscience for having left Diana alone this long. The dogsitter he’s employed is a retiree who lives three houses over and whose grey poodle is best friends with Diana, but seeing as she probably believes smartphones are glorified Tamagotchi, it’s hard to let her know not to drop the corgi off in the afternoon as she usually does –meaning Diana’s been all alone in the flat for almost half a day now. He opens the door expecting her to zoom past him, eager to get outside yet finds her curled up in her fluffy bed, blinking up at him sleepily. Frowning, he tries to convince her to get up and walk around the block with him but earns nothing but a grumpy growl that unmistakably tells him she’s tired and wishes not to be disturbed.

He remains confused until he finds the note pinned to his fridge, written in Maestro’s elegant, flowy handwriting: _Heard what happened at work, so I kept your principessa company and probably walked her excessively as she’s now refusing to even stand up. You still have leftovers so I only made you lunch for tomorrow. Sleep well, cuore mio xxxx_

Sledge rests his forehead against the cool surface for a moment, closes his eyes and murmurs: “What in the world are you doing?”

He doesn’t even know whom he’s addressing in particular – probably the both of them because Maestro’s motives are entirely unclear to him and he also can’t explain why there’s a fluttering in his belly, caused simply by the knowledge that someone cares about him. That _Maestro_ cares about him. With a sigh, he investigates what it is that the ghost from summers past has whipped up for him this time and finds handmade falafel, hummus and even _bread_ that Maestro made himself. “I don’t even like bloody hummus”, he accuses the creamy, pale paste that sits there innocently, tempting him to at least give it a try. So he does. And of course it’s stupid delicious. Suspiciously, he peeks under the container and finds another note: _Tasty, right? xxxx_

He’s getting sassed by fucking hummus. It’s definitely time for him to go to bed.

 

The next few days, Sledge is drowning in clean-up work following the hostage situation and a series of phone calls as well as emails from an enraged Spanish police officer whose problem seems as complex as it is impossible to pinpoint, leading to general confusion and an unreasonable amount of wasted time. He spends most of his day in his office unless he’s being dragged outside by a disgruntled Mute or a concerned Rook who challenges him to races which he always wins, surprising no one. Regardless, Sledge appreciates the gesture and is grateful for every minute he doesn’t have to stare at yet another dry form that seems to slowly desiccate him.

His only interactions with Maestro are the notes and the excessive amounts of food he leaves in Sledge’s flat – at this point, he wouldn’t bat an eye if he dug up some Turkish delight from the sofa cracks or stumbled over a steak in his shower. He hasn’t eaten this lavishly since… well, since he last saw Maestro; even if he’s visiting other countries he either sticks to what he knows or just wolfs down whatever’s available with no prejudice. The exotic flavours that Maestro basically forces onto him tickle his palate and it’s been a while since he last tasted the delightful combination of red wine and cinnamon. Even when he still has so much food in his fridge, Maestro leaves him a fruit salad or cantuccini that he generously shares at work because there’s no way he can eat them all. It’s as if the thought of coming over to Sledge’s apartment without preparing anything for him caused him great distress.

It doesn’t stop there, though. Together with notes that always seem heartfelt and warm, there are small gifts strewn around that sting with how personal they are. A recording of _Rigoletto_ by Verdi, the only opera Sledge has seen in person and by Maestro’s side, a few cut stalks of lavender that smell exactly like his parents’ house which is surrounded by a sea of purple, bathed in sunlight and serenaded by endless bees almost too heavy with pollen to fly. On the last day of Maestro having too much time on his hands, there’s a golden cylindrical container awaiting Sledge’s appraisal on the table, reading _Glendronach Parliament – aged 21 years_.

“You fucking didn’t”, Sledge tells no one in particular because there’s no one there, only him and the bottle of whisky that he’s eyed for years but never settled on buying in case it didn’t live up to his expectations. It’s expensive, has only increased in value over the years due to its popularity and he almost forgot about it in the meantime, purchased his Scotch from other distilleries. It seems Maestro hasn’t forgotten, however. Like everything he does, it’s too much.

There’s a final note stuck to it, written carefully and not half as messy as the previous ones: _Luce dei miei occhi, go out to dinner with me? I’d like to talk xxxx_

Below that, a time and a place that Sledge recognises as a comparatively posh French restaurant. He still has about half an hour left to change, mentally prepare himself for a conversation that will undoubtedly drain him of all his energy and possibly scream into a pillow.

 

If the red-haired waiter didn’t already suspect them to be gay upon laying eyes on Maestro’s trousers as well as the dangerously low buttoned shirt, he definitely does after the obligatory cheek kisses that become harder to stomach each time. Maestro does look like someone on a third date, not as nervous as on the first, familiar with the person he admires yet still not too comfortable in their presence, cautious of his own behaviour but beaming regardless. In fact, he looks positively _thrilled_ about Sledge joining him which makes him suspect Maestro thought he wouldn’t turn up at all. “You’re gorgeous, tesoro”, the Italian purrs just as the ginger approaches them to hand them their menu with a smile so wide it’s obvious he thinks them adorable. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Sledge waits until the young man has disappeared again before he calmly says: “I want you to return my key.”

“You didn’t like the vegetarian moussaka?”

“I don’t like that you seem to think there is any chance I would ever take you back.” Maestro closes his mouth that he’s opened a moment ago, ready for a retaliation. Now his smile is fading. “It’s no problem if you want to use my kitchen to cook. I’m flattered when you also cook for me. But if you’re doing it because you expect or even just hope for something to come out of it, then please stop. It’s not going to happen. I appreciate all that you do and I’m thankful for the presents. But none of it is going to change my mind.”

They’re silent for a bit, break their staring contest to look over the few dishes that are being offered and sold at high yet reasonable prices. The waiter materialises next to their table and Maestro first orders a carafe of familiar-sounding wine to which Sledge merely nods – Maestro knows his taste in wine better than he himself does –, then their dishes. They’re left alone again and it seems the time was sufficient for Maestro to gather his thoughts. “I’m sorry”, he begins with a classic that Sledge has heard countless times explicitly already, in person, via text, on a note in his flat, and implicitly even more. He’s tired of it. “I know that doesn’t make it better but I’d like you to know it nonetheless. I’m genuinely sorry.”

“Move on. You’re starting to sound like a broken record.” Sledge neither holds on to grudges nor is he easily irritable, only in Maestro’s company his nerves are raw already. He’s aware he sounds cold but makes no effort to rectify it.

“You know I despise nothing more than lies.” Yes, Sledge knows this. He suspects it’s one of the reasons Maestro was so drawn to him, why he treasures his blunt honesty so much. Which makes his friendship with Alibi all the stranger as the very nature of her work requires deceit. “I say this and continue to say this even though I’ve broken my own rule, gone against my own principle in the worst way possible. I’m ashamed and deeply regretful in telling you this, but I lied to you about something no one should ever lie, something that is too sacred.”

He speaks with the sincerity of a man who has nothing to lose, of someone who is trying his best to regain something he once lost, only to guard it more viciously now, jealously hide it from the rest of the world, protect it at all costs. Sledge is just waiting for the revelation, mesmerised against his will. Whatever it is, it better be worth the headaches that have been plaguing him recently.

“I wasn’t truthful with you when I said I didn’t love you anymore.” Oh. Sledge’s brows lift. “I lied. It was the biggest mistake of my entire life, Seamus, nothing comes close – I never stopped, not once, I thought of nothing but you the past few years. You’re probably scared of me falling out of love again but I’m telling you, it cannot happen _again_ because it never happened the first time.”

And there it is. The inevitable confession – inevitable because he now realises that everything Maestro has done so far leads up to this, invariably ends up here, with them in a laughably romantic setting, grand images painted into his mind with Maestro’s tongue which effortlessly produces words designed to shake him to his core, seemingly uncaring of the consequences. It’s selfish, not once does he ask how Sledge has been affected by his lie, directs the focus to his own sorrow caused by none other than _himself_. If Sledge didn’t know Maestro never once takes a step back to analyse his actions, to plan maliciously, he’d accuse him of emotional manipulation.

He tells himself all this, no, _convinces_ himself of this, tries his best to stay level-headed, focused, objective. But even then he can feel himself waver. It’s too good to be true and therefore _cannot_ be true, Maestro has always had the tendency to exaggerate, especially where it concerns his own actions and emotions. It’s too good to be true. But _God_ , does Sledge wish with a sudden ferocity it was real. The redhead delivers the wine, allows Maestro to taste it and nod, then scurries off again. Sledge waits until he’s out of earshot.

“Why?”, he asks the one question that’s stayed with him all this time.

“Because you terrify me.” No hesitation. It seems Maestro has thought about it often enough that the answer comes to him naturally. “You know me, I don’t keep unhealthy habits. I quit smoking. Cut people out of my life who weren’t good for me. Stopped feeling guilty about literally every cent I spent on myself instead of sending it home. Realised I didn’t know enough about the rest of the world and set out to change this. But with you? We were thousands of kilometres apart and I dreamt of you. I haven’t spoken to you in three years and yet you’re on the insides of my eyelids. I never forgot what you felt like, how you sounded, the way the one corner of your mouth lifts when you’re involuntarily amused. You’re a habit I can’t kick, no matter how hard I tried, and it was even worse when we were together. I was scared, Seamus. This isn’t meant to be an excuse, I’m not justifying what I did. It’s a terrible reason, but it is one.”

Honeyed words were his downfall back then, too. Maestro charmed his pants off over the course of their cooperation, lavished him with compliments, pet names, flowery descriptions, extravagant flattery to an extent no one had ever done before. He’s not going to fall for it again. “So your fault was that you loved me too much? Is that what you’re saying?” Words are not going to be good enough for him.

Maestro senses his scepticism and struggles for an answer when a sudden sound chimes, clearly coming from a phone. Sledge knows that sound. He also knows what it means. They look at each other over the table, Maestro apologetic, Sledge resigned. “I’m sorry”, the Italian says quietly and pulls out his phone, checks his messages. Maybe it’s nothing, maybe it’s resolved with a reply or two. Maybe they can go back to Maestro grovelling a little.

“I have to go.” …well. So much for that. “Again, I’m sorry, vita mia. I hope this is only postponed. Enjoy your meal, pay with this, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He takes out a credit card, slides it over to Sledge and then gets ready to leave. A kiss to his temple is his goodbye, then Sledge is sitting alone. A familiar feeling.

He’s not going to eat his bœuf bourguignon on his own, he hasn’t reached that level of pathetic yet. At least he’d like to think so. He calls the waiter over, asks whether the dishes they ordered could be kept warm for a bit once they’re done as he waits for his companion – but a different one, _this_ particular gentleman is not going to come back, he’s sure of that. The sympathetic gaze he gets is expected and Sledge supposes he’s not helping his image by first fiddling around with his own phone and then pouring the contents of Maestro’s wine glass into his, but he’s past caring. He massages his temples, wipes the feel of Maestro’s lips away and tries not to be bitter about it all.

It’s hard. It’s a real challenge.

Only a little while later, there’s a commotion at the entrance and he turns around to find Mute in jeans and a t-shirt with a few vulgarities printed on it quietly arguing with the hostess until Sledge’s waiter rushes over and probably explains how a gay couple broke up at one of his tables and this is the moral support, at which the hostess becomes all smiles and points the young man in Sledge’s direction. He sticks out like a sore thumb, earns a variety of judging glances and Sledge has never been happier to see him, even in his disillusionment. “You could’ve warned me this was fancy”, Mute whispers accusingly as he slides onto the chair that Maestro occupied only fifteen minutes ago, “contrary to popular belief, I _do_ own a suit.”

“He left me”, Sledge tells him matter-of-factly, “back then. For no bloody reason.” Mute stills. He immediately realises that he’s finally going to get the whole story, only now the ginger appears again out of nowhere, asking about the food and Sledge almost laughs at how absurd the whole situation is; the poor guy is now undoubtedly convinced they _just_ separated.

“Can I get a Sprite?”, Mute asks and the corner of Sledge’s mouth twitches because _he_ knows Mute is joking yet the waiter doesn’t and merely blinks at him with a scandalised expression. It’s just a small thing but he already feels better now.

“We’ll take another Sauvignon please, thank you.”

“What even happened? What am I doing here?”

“I was on a date with Maestro and… then I wasn’t anymore. So now you get to eat his food and drink his wine and listen to me tell you all about how we ended up here.”

“I’m up for all of that except for the wine maybe. I don’t actually like red wine.”

“Oh, you can just give it to me, I’ll drink it gladly.” God knows he needs it.

“Hell no, I’m not turning down free alcohol.” Their food arrives and Sledge feels the urge to inform the waiter as well as the people in their vicinity who are throwing them appalled glances that the slob sitting opposite of him has graduated from Cambridge and is the smartest person he’s ever met – but resists. He likes it when people underestimate Mute.

While they eat, Sledge continues: “We were together for more than a year, a bit less than a year and a half. Two summers, definitely, and right before Rainbow. We spent every waking minute together, went on several shorter vacations, were making plans to move in together. And then he left.”

Mute winces sympathetically. “For no reason?”, he repeats Sledge’s earlier words disbelievingly yet he only nods.

“None at all. He told me something like _the spark is gone_ or some other bullshit, that he values his freedom, that he enjoyed our time together but needed to move on. A bunch of half-baked excuses that I now know to be lies because he said so himself about half an hour ago. He cancelled _his_ side of a planned trip to Morocco and genuinely expected me to still go on my own. After that, the only times he contacted me – three times, to be exact – he simply apologised without offering any explanation.” Putting it like this, almost clinically, helps his resolve. He should remember this the next time Maestro tries to woo him with richly decorated speech.

“Are you sure there’s not…” Mute seems unconvinced, baffled at such behaviour. He’s always had trouble understanding people conducting themselves irrationally, especially when it came to emotional matters. Him and Smoke clicked almost immediately, danced around each other for no more than two weeks while they got to know each other better and are now inseparable; Mute never really learnt the horrors of dating or what it feels like not to meet one of your soulmates at the ripe old age of 23. “Maybe there’s just something you don’t know. Some kind of emergency. Any proper reason you might not -”

“Mark.” He’s considered it all, gave him the benefit of the doubt. He tried to be fair. “I talked to his family. I talked to Aria who’s known him for a while. There are two things, two parts of his personality that have always been the same: he gets bored easily and he enjoys challenges. I was neither challenging to him nor interesting enough anymore, apparently. He got everything he wanted out of the relationship. It was time for him to move on.”

“If that’s really what happened, he’s a fucking tosser.”

“I knew how he was going in, that he never stayed in one spot for a longer period of time. I knew it. You can observe him for half an hour and notice how eagerly he jumps on anything new and anything that tests his skills or knowledge. I should’ve figured it’d come to that.”

“No, you bloody shouldn’t.” Mute is becoming agitated now, gesturing with the silverware and drawing even more attention than he already is. “It’s a fucking commitment, I know you don’t mince your words, you probably informed him very calmly of the fact that you’d like to spend the rest of your life with him or something. There’s no way he didn’t know what you felt and he trampled all over it regardless. You wanted to move in together? That doesn’t scream boredom to me. Either you’re sorely misinformed or the guy is just a gigantic asshole – and from what I’ve seen, it’s definitely looking like the latter option.”

“Please don’t antagonise him.”

“ _Antagonise_? I’m going to set his shoes on fire.” Sledge snorts at that which only seems to fuel Mute’s rage that’s starting to build up now, a thing of beauty, born from undying loyalty and a friendship that’s treasured by both parties. “I’m not kidding. I’ll dissolve his toothbrush in sulphuric acid. I didn’t even know you _had_ feelings and he thinks he can crush them? No way. I’ll make sure he won’t have a single calm moment in Rainbow anymore.”

He’s full on chuckling now, more at the absurdity of Mute’s statements than anything else and it’s a relief somehow, reassuring to know he hasn’t lost the ability to laugh. Life goes on, he managed to cope before and he will now, too. “Mark. It’s alright. You don’t have to do any of that, I’m over him.”

“No you’re not. You wouldn’t have fucking texted me if you were.”

“You’re right. It’s frightening how _not_ over him I am – but let’s be professional about this, okay?”

“I’m frankly appalled that you even agreed to coming here in the first place.”

“He watched Diana and cooked for me for a week. He left nice notes. He even bought me whisky, I couldn’t leave him hanging, he was nothing but lovely to me.”

“Sounds to me like he’s basically guilt tripping you into going out with him.” Hearing Mute come to the same conclusion as he did is not particularly reassuring. “So what happened? Why did he book it?”

Oh. Oh, that’s right. He hasn’t even gotten to that part yet. “He got a text from Aria.” He remembers the notification sound quite vividly and it’s strangely fitting that he hasn’t changed it, not even now, not even after several years. It’s stayed the same and isn’t that predictable.

“So? Did she need his help?”

Sledge shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You didn’t ask?” Disbelief bleeds into Mute’s expression as he slowly begins to understand. “This isn’t the first time it happened?”

“No”, Sledge replies easily and acknowledges the redhead who’s come to take their empty plates with a polite nod, earning a supportive smile in return. He really has a talent for showing up at exactly the right times – he must think Sledge completely bitter and heartbroken by now, going by the snippets of their conversation he undoubtedly catches. “The first time he actually dropped everything for her, we were in Egypt. The second, we were visiting his family in Rome. You see, me spending vacations alone has a bit of a history.”

“I’m going to fucking strangle him, Seamus. If you don’t physically restrain me, I’ll -”

“You’re going to do absolutely nothing. Because this technically isn’t your business, he’s done nothing to you and I, as your friend, am asking you _politely_ neither to show your knowledge of all of this nor treat him any differently. Respect my decision. This is another thing I was aware of before I entered the relationship: that I’d be forever contending with a woman who’s shown an amount of resolve, dedication and skill that I’m hoping to achieve one day. She doesn’t reciprocate, which the only reason why -”

“Are you telling me that he not only dumped you for his oversized ego but also treated you like you’re not even first choice?!”

Mute’s righteous outrage is interrupted by the waiter clearing his throat, making Mute grimace and cross his arms like a misbehaving child. “Would the gentlemen like a dessert?”

“No, but thank you.”

“It would be on the house.”

Sledge offers him a grateful smile and barely suppresses a giggle at the offer. The young man must feel _really_ bad for him. “That’s very generous, but it’s not that – I’m not the one paying.” He indicates the credit card Maestro left him and both Mute’s and the waiter’s eyes snap to it and then to each other, obviously conspiring or at least having the same thought.

“So…”, the ginger starts slowly, “that was a large dessert platter, our most expensive item, did I understand that correctly? We’ll wrap it up for you so you can take it home.”

And this time, Sledge actually laughs.

 

When Sledge was younger, he had two modes of drinking alcohol: one, boozing until he passed out, or two, guzzling everything in reach, ending up with nothing more than a faint buzz and spending the rest of the evening scouring the current host’s abode or trying to bum some money off of others to try and get proper smashed still. Now, he’s replaced them with two different ones: one, partaking in (usually) expensive and high-quality alcohol in small doses as to fully experience and relish the taste, smell and colour, and two, consuming whatever is there until he can be sure to hate himself the next morning.

The date with Maestro that he in good conscience can call an utter catastrophe triggered the latter and so, when he wakes from restless and not at all restorative sleep, he realises with a faint sort of detachment that he actually needs to go to work in an hour, meaning he got about four hours of sleep. Diana isn’t by his side which indicates the chaos twins stayed the night again. He rolls out of bed and decides to wake them right away to give them a chance of turning into human beings before facing the rest of the day when he hears Mute’s voice coming from the living room: “Okay, Diana, first of all you’re being a total creep right now.”

Curiously, he peers into the room just in time to see Smoke’s hand still but remain in Mute’s crotch nonetheless – and even though it’s hidden by the blanket, it’s quite obvious what he was doing. Mute himself is sitting up and glaring at the corgi perched by their feet, innocently watching them, though as soon as he spots Sledge, his cheeks redden. “Oh. You’re awake already”, he states and inconspicuously tries to push Smoke’s hand away.

“How about I give you two a quarter of an hour”, Sledge suggests with an amused smile, “and take Diana for a walk? Come on, luv, let’s go.”

“If it was just for Mark, you could come back after two minutes”, Smoke says and laughs when Mute punches him in the side.

Sledge just shakes his head and quickly grabs his phone and some clothes before allowing the two some privacy. This early, the town is mostly still sleeping even though the sun’s already up. Birdsong accompanies him on his way to a dew-covered park where he lets Diana run free and play with another early riser who brought his terrier mix along, the two chasing each other through the grass excitedly. He watches them with a wistful smile and thinks of Maestro caressing her in his lap, persuading her to an impromptu duet and kissing her head. A quick glance at his phone’s display shows a variety of missed calls and a few text messages. There’s no doubt Maestro believes what he told him the previous evening, is convinced another stab at a relationship is the right thing to do; Sledge even believes him when he says he never stopped loving him – Maestro’s heart is big and he has a lot of love to give, for the people he protects, his country, his teammates, his family, Alibi. They just disagree on one thing: Sledge doesn’t think love itself is enough. And he’s been burnt too thoroughly to test it out so he’d know for sure. He doesn’t think it’s necessary.

When he’s back, the two are showering so he prepares breakfast for the three of them as well as Diana, pointedly ignoring the admittedly delicious-looking focaccia that he’ll devour later on base when he inevitably feels like making a bed out of his paperwork and sleeping in it for half a day. The Glendronach is still on the kitchen table, taunting him. If it was any other whisky, he’d consider returning it just to prove a point but Maestro has always known him too well for his own good.

“Did you even notice, the cute carrot from yesterday evening gave you his number”, Mute announces and somehow manages not to look embarrassed even as Smoke kisses his jaw and slaps his arse heartily before collapsing on one of the chairs. “Wrote it on the bill.”

“Oh.” Sledge digs it up from inside his wallet and true enough, the waiter did scribble his phone number on there with a friendly smiley face added, probably meant to make him feel better. The gesture is lovely though Sledge has no intention whatsoever to start texting a perfect stranger. “So he did. Maybe he wants to offer advice.”

“No way”, Smoke interjects with a full mouth while continuing to gorge himself on the croissants Sledge bought on his way back. “Have you _looked_ at yourself? If he doesn’t want you to raw him in the alley behind his poncy restaurant, I’ll eat your underwear.”

“I would ask you whether your filter turns off after only three hours of sleep, but that would require you to _have_ one in the first place”, Mute says flatly and earns a charming smile from his worse half. “But I have to say he did seem interested. You should probably write him, in case he turns out to be cool.”

“Or a freak in bed”, Smoke adds.

“Are you just saying that because…” Sledge trails off as soon as Mute’s expression turns guilty. Bullseye. He hopes this is going to be a singular occurrence – he’s not looking forward to finding out with what kind of men Mute would attempt to set him up were he allowed free rein. He does appreciate his concern but Mute should really know better than believing a new relationship is going to solve any of Sledge’s problems. “It doesn’t change anything.”

His eyes narrow. “James, my dear darling, would you mind leaving us alone for a moment?”

“What, is this about Maestro?” Both Sledge and Mute look over to a completely unbothered Smoke who just shrugs. “It’s pretty obvious what’s going on, no? You’ve been weird ever since he arrived, Seamus, and he’s staring at your arse every chance he gets. Together with some of the things you two said, it’s easy to figure out. Forget about him or fuck him one last time but stop giving the bastard mixed signals.”

“How did you -” Mute frowns. “Did I tell you about this last night while I was drunk?”

“Bloody plastered, babe”, Smoke confirms with a grin warranting an eye roll. “Seriously though, he sounds like he needs _his_ heart broken in return for him to leave you alone. That, or a sexual harassment complaint.”

“I don’t _want_ to break his heart though”, Sledge replies drily. “I’ve had that happen. It sucks. If at all possible, I’d never subject anyone else to it. Also, do you really think I’m giving off mixed signals?”

“He said it, mate”, Smoke immediately denies all responsibility and indicates Mute with his chin.

“I mean… you are granting him access to your apartment. You let him drool on you every day. You _did_ go on a date with him, not to mention you go out of your way to stop anyone from badmouthing him. I know why, you probably think you’re being civilised and mature and whatnot, but if I were a passionate Italian and into you and you did all that, I’d genuinely assume there’s hope.”

Sledge mulls it over. Ever since they got to know each other, it’s been like this: little favours here and there, initiated by the oddly affectionate stranger who quickly morphed into a likeable acquaintance and then, after a myriad of touches, compliments and heated gazes, more than that. There wasn’t a time where they were _less_ to each other, where Maestro didn’t live in his personal space – and maybe that’s the problem. They’ve never learnt to be just friends or colleagues, never interacted without at least Maestro being actively interested in him. Sledge thought they could keep the familiarity without any sort of romantic attachment but he has to agree that it seems to be impossible. At least for now. “You’re right. I already turned him down, however. Do you want me to be actively rude to him?”

“Oh you can already see the disgust in his face!”, Smoke butts in, laughing. “ _Me? Rude?_ Look at him, he’s trying to process it. _Does not compute._ Mate, you’d give directions to a dude who just shot you in the balls if he asked politely. Fucking avoid him, for God’s sake, you can’t do more than tell him and if he doesn’t get it, ignore him until he gets the message.”

“Alternately, I can change all the locks on your doors and make slight improvements to his phone so it tasers him whenever he dials your number”, Mute adds helpfully.

“And you, babe, should leave him alone.” Both Sledge and Mute stare at their teammate in disbelief. “Don’t fucking give me that look. If Seamus is decent enough to let us fuck on his couch, we can refrain from meddling in his affairs. If he needs your help, he’ll ask.”

“I never thought the day would come where I actually agree with you, James, but yes. I’ll let him know unambiguously how I stand and you _both_ don’t mess with him.”

Mute is pouting now but doesn’t protest outright. It’s obvious he’s unhappy with being confined to inaction yet Sledge knows it’ll deter him for a while. Not in the long run, however – this is probably not the last time they’re having this particular conversation as the croissant doesn’t seem to be the only thing on which the young man is chewing. A snout nudges Sledge’s leg and Diana blinks up at him expectantly, hoping to be lifted up into his lap. Usually, when he has guests over, breakfast is a more leisurely activity during which she sleeps on one of the participants and even though they don’t have much time now, Sledge can’t resist her puppy eyes. He picks her up and lets her curl up on his thighs after which she heaves a deep sigh as if it was an ordeal to finally achieve this peace.

“Oh hey”, Mute speaks up, gaze fixed on the corgi lady, “when did you get Diana again? Wasn’t that right before Rainbow?”

Sledge looks down at the bundle of joy and curses internally. He shouldn’t have told Mute that part. He shouldn’t have told him anything at all. He did get Diana after Maestro disappeared from his life, hoped to fill the void he left behind with _something_ and while most people would agree on this being one of the worst reasons to adopt a living being, it worked out in the end. Caring for her distracted him enough and it took only a few weeks for him to start showering her with all the excess love he suddenly had left to give; by now, she’s one of the main reasons for him to get up in the morning.

“You’re fucking kidding me”, Mute murmurs when it’s clear he’s not going to get an answer, “poor Diana. You hear that, love? You’re a _rebound dog_.”

 

~*~

 

One of Maestro’s greatest assets is that he sees everyone as a potential ally. He approaches people unbiased and with an open mind, giving them the chance to reinvent themselves before him or reveal a depth that most others would be hesitant or even unwilling to explore. Oftentimes, he keeps his judgements to himself and still manages to treat others with an enviable earnestness that makes it very easy to understand why he’s usually popular, the centre of attention. This attitude also contributes to why he’s such a great teacher: he tears down people’s walls, overcomes the obstacles they place around them to keep others out, loosens their tongue and coaxes secrets, weaknesses, faults out of them. Depending on how Maestro stands in relation to them, he uses this knowledge to assist in working on their flaws and improving themselves, or to neutralise and gently manipulate them more easily.

Usually, he has no trouble keeping in touch with former students or colleagues, receives and delivers updates gladly and reminisces excessively but were he to be offered the same job he already worked before, asked to come back or just teach one more group in what he already taught for years, he’d refuse. Politely yet firmly – once he’s achieved and conquered a position, there’s nothing that holds him in place.

Regardless of his chatty nature, of the fact that he talks enough to support three conversations simultaneously, he’s developed a skill that at first seems paradoxical to everything he does: he’s learnt to talk without actually revealing much about himself. His anecdotes paint him as a cheerful, dedicated and competent man yet also pale in a way, generic, part of a team rather than someone who sticks out. His real passions, his worries, fears and anger issues are carefully hidden not through deception but omission – he doesn’t open up readily even though he effortlessly manages to propagate the impression that he does. When he recounts how a friend of his fought and won against three alligators unarmed, he doesn’t mention how he died of cancer one year later. When he tells the story of his squad suffering from heat stroke, frostbite and dehydration all in three days of extreme weather, he doesn’t speak of the long-term damages still affecting them and instead focuses on the fact that they survived.

He keeps his friends close and tragedies closer, stays unshakably optimistic in what he says and prepares for the worst in secret. When it comes down to it, he’s a realist. He just prefers to keep morale high.

There’s only a handful of people in whom Maestro confides – confides fully, lays himself bare, exposes his inner workings. He trusts easily and rarely commits, only a small part of his family gets to see all of him. Sledge did. And so did Alibi, still does. It was always exhilarating to come home after a long day spent in the presence of others both of them disliked and simply watch Maestro rage cook something delicious in that extravagant kitchen of his, raving on about wilful ignorance and lack of respect as he angrily grates cheese with jerky motions. His temper used to be much worse as a child, nowadays he keeps it under control but when it shows, it flares up hotly, fierce enough to burn those around him yet it never once directed itself at Sledge. He always felt like being let in on a secret when it happened, like witnessing something forbidden and kept hidden from others but let loose for his benefit. Maestro felt better once he’s returned to a healthy temperature and allowed Sledge to soothe him further, distract him with calm words and gentle touches.

Alibi is another special case. It’s unknown to Sledge how she managed to earn herself Maestro’s undying loyalty and vicious devotion – it must have to do with their work together with which he’s not familiar. The few times he saw her, she was nothing but poised, composed and professional though he also witnessed the fire burning below that façade when he overheard Maestro and her arguing over the phone, beautiful Italian reduced to a series of accusations and swearwords of which he understands not even half. She was loud enough for her voice to reverberate even on Maestro’s end, loud enough for Sledge to hear her. They let their guard down around each other, Maestro indubitably a reliable friend to her, unshakably loyal and devoted. She knows he’d never betray, never leave, never refuse her. She just never asked for what he’s willing to give.

Seeing them together stings. They’re rummaging around in the kitchenette on base, a shared room that’s usually used to make tea and coffee during breaks as it’s closer to the training grounds but deserted in the mornings, shunned for the much larger and better-equipped canteen that’s filled with people. Which is probably the reason why they’re here, relishing the privacy and behaving naturally in each other’s presence. Both of them are speaking more quietly than usual, faster too in their native tongue, Alibi’s words less carefully enunciated now that she’s not using English. As far as Sledge can tell, they’re discussing events unfolding in Italy while simultaneously seeking and offering each other advice on how to make proper espresso in the Moka pot they’re using – the stove is temperamental and more a detriment to their endeavour than any help.

They’ve yet to notice Sledge who stopped right outside the small room, opting to observe them for a while even though the softness that Alibi radiates and the familiar jabs they exchange create a dull ache in his chest. Maestro is cracking jokes regardless of the topic, quite obviously to lighten the mood and for once, Alibi humours him, smiles even at the more vulgar ones. By now, they’ve assembled all that they need for their morning pick-me-up and are left powerlessly glaring at the electronic device hindering their progress. Alibi smooths down her hair, always fearful of a single one sticking out of place in her elegantly, shortly cropped style that suits her more than the longer one she favoured during her time undercover. It’s well-maintained regardless, shining and thick, screams at people to sink their hands into it. The gesture is automatic but Maestro takes note of it, removes her hand and kisses the crown of her head, making her chuckle, swat at his hands and call him an old man. Even so, once he’s withdrawn again, she leans against his shoulder.

Sledge’s fingers are itching. “Adriano”, he makes his presence known, acts as if he just got here.

Alibi recoils as if she’s been burnt, even takes a step away from her teammate like they’d been caught at something unsavoury, schools her expression back into the mask she wears each day. Though it’s clear Maestro doesn’t mind being surprised during a moment like the previous one, his smile is dimmed. He noticed the missing syllable, the absence of his nickname on Sledge’s tongue. Oh did he notice. “Good morning, caro mio, what can I do for you?” Keeping his distance too, refraining from greeting Sledge like he usually does. He doesn’t need to, there’s no one who’d see them other than Alibi and she undoubtedly knows all that’s going on anyway.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

His request makes Alibi spring into action. “I’ll leave you two alone”, she tells Sledge readily, quickly pours herself what looks like a dangerous amount of espresso, stirs in some sugar and nods at him when he moves out the way to let her exit. Her face betrays nothing but he suspects she knows what she interrupted the previous evening – unknowingly at the time, maybe. She doesn’t offer an apology, in any case.

Maestro on the other hand does, immediately, as soon as she’s out of earshot. “Amore, I’m really sorry about yesterday. I didn’t get the chance to say everything I wanted to – not nearly –, so please accept another invitation. Let’s go out again, or allow me to come over and cook, I have so much more to say.”

He does seem remorseful, is wringing his hands and looking at him imploringly, acting like he’s entirely at Sledge’s mercy. As always, Sledge needs to pay attention to all the things Maestro _doesn’t_ speak out loud: no word on what Alibi needed, on whether her demand was justified or not. It seems to him that if he agrees once more to a date, he appears weak enough to all of Maestro’s prodding and pushing that he’ll never find peace, so there’s only the one course of action left that he was going to take anyway. “No”, he tells the Italian and watches him deflate. “I don’t need to hear it. I don’t _want_ to hear it. Here’s your credit card back.”

“You didn’t charge it”, Maestro points out with a sliver of hope left in his voice which no, that doesn’t fly.

“I don’t want to owe you anything.” It’s harsh but apparently the only thing Maestro understands as only now does the glint in his eye die out. “And I’d like my key back.” He waits patiently, watches how Maestro makes a show out of very slowly taking out his keys, sorting through them until he finds what he seeks, takes ages to thread the object in question through the keyring. Petulantly, he slaps it into Sledge’s outstretched palm and this is probably as good a time as any to deliver the final blow to bring this madness to an end. “We’re colleagues now. And we can’t be more than that.”

“Is that what you think?” Maestro is being frightfully curt right now, almost reticent and it’s so out of character for him that Sledge needs a moment to regroup his own thoughts.

“I’m asking you to give me some space. Let me get accustomed to you being here. You push too much, you know that yourself, and please – just don’t. Accept my decision.”

This is where Sledge would expect most people to back off, agree to let him take a breath. All of his previous lovers would have, none of them were as unreasonable, as persistent as Maestro, especially since the breakups were always mutual. “No”, Maestro replies because of course he does. Like a dog, once he’s buried his teeth in something he’s loath to let it go, too stubborn and selfish. “You refuse to accept mine as well.”

“Your decision to want me back?”, Sledge clarifies, prompting a decisive nod. He suppresses a sigh – how blunt does he have to be? “You hurt me. Adriano, when you left, I was a mess, I’ve never been that furious in my entire life. I’d like to make sure that never happens again.”

Surprisingly, the apology that’s as obligatory as it is futile fails to make an appearance. Instead, Maestro’s brows furrow even further, indicating he’s starting to get upset which is ridiculous, _he’s_ not the one who should be angry right now. “Give me a chance to make it up to you. I made a mistake. I regret it. All I’m asking for is another chance, Seamus.”

“And I keep telling you that no, I do not think you deserve one. I can’t get emotionally involved again. Not again. For now, let’s just be colleagues and time will tell if we can be friends.” He very nearly mentions Alibi and the fact that Maestro seems to encounter no trouble with her turning him down, but it would be inappropriate. This is about the two of them and no one else, Alibi is very different to him after all.

“Oh, you want a fresh start basically?”

He’s tired of arguing. “Sure, if you want to call it that.”

“Alright.” Sledge watches suspiciously as Maestro approaches him, hand outstretched but all he seems to intend is a handshake, followed by a quick half-hug and this is when Sledge realises that the only time Maestro has greeted him like this was the very first time they met. “Nice to make your acquaintance, I’m Adriano Martello, also known as Maestro.”

“What are you doing?”, he demands to know but Maestro simply continues talking.

“I’ve heard a lot about you and was looking forward to meeting you in person but I was in no way, shape or form prepared for you being this fucking gorgeous. Your eyes are beautiful, I don’t ever want to let go of your hand and I’m already making plans to get under your skin because I caught you checking me out. When you say my name, I almost faint because your accent is so adorable, and it turns out that while you look scary, you’re the loveliest person I’ve ever met and unlike most of your colleagues, you’re well-mannered, polite and reserved. After not even a minute of laying eyes on you, I want nothing more than to kiss you in the dying light of the setting sun, ride you until your composure cracks, feed you everything you could ever want and make you want to look at no one but me.”

Sledge is floored. He’s still holding Maestro’s hand, his palm warm and his grip tight and he remembers him doing this the day they met as well, he held on for much longer than necessary while blabbering on about something or other and while half of Sledge wanted to get on with the proceedings, receive a proper briefing and possibly get away from this obtrusive and unusually talkative Italian, the other half was _very_ content with just looking at him. “Those were _not_ your first impressions of me”, he says flatly despite the way his heartbeat has doubled in speed.

Maestro is holding his gaze, unwavering, honeyed brown eyes fixed on him. “Yes, they were.” He pulls Sledge towards him, brings their faces closer and lowers his voice. “You want me to fight, tesoro? I’ll fight. I won’t give up that easily.” And with a last kiss to the back of Sledge’s hand, he leaves.

He loves nothing more than challenges. Sledge should’ve been aware of this – but then again, what does it change? He can give in or tell Maestro no so he bothers him until he gives in, the result stays unchanged and even though it’s unfair, doesn’t take into account what _he_ wants, he can feel his cheeks burning. Sledge has a hard time handling compliments, especially ones that are uttered as sincerely and brusquely as Maestro did just now, so he rubs his face with both hands, trying to disperse the blood rushing to his cheeks. He forgot how overwhelming it is to be at Maestro’s centre of attention, forgot the rush it creates and the wish to remain there, to keep catching his eye. It’s addicting.

“Fuck”, he murmurs into the empty kitchenette, and then: “Please no.” But his heart is still thumping away faster than it should be, Maestro’s words keep replaying in his head and his face is redder than it’s been for years.

This is when he notices Maestro left his espresso behind that might be lukewarm by now but Sledge is grateful for it regardless. He needs all the support he can get right now.

 

By the end of the day, literally everyone in Rainbow knows about their previous relationship and the entire base has split up into three parties that are separated by their opinion of what the future should bring for the two. It was cheap, predictable, entirely in character and faintly embarrassing but Sledge has to admit he walked right into it. If he’s generous with himself, he can blame his lack of sleep and hangover but he really should’ve known better.

“Look, one of my brothers became a granddad last night”, Maestro announces to him during the lunch break. Sledge has noticed him moving from group to group through the half-filled canteen, shoving his phone under their noses and making them _oooh_ and _aaah_ yet managed to quell his curiosity by telling himself there’s no way Maestro _won’t_ use this opportunity to bother him. They’ve not talked again since their conversation this morning which was foreboding enough – he’s convinced Maestro used the time to come up with a variety of plans that ultimately lead to wearing Sledge down and now he seems to be implementing one of them. Admittedly, Sledge isn’t exactly sure what he wants to achieve by showing him a wrinkled and enraged-looking newborn.

“Cute”, he lies and doesn’t kid himself by thinking he fooled Maestro, not with the way his eyebrow lifts in amusement. “Which brother?”

“Guess.”

“Well it’s definitely not Ottaviano”, Sledge replies – Ottaviano is the youngest of Maestro’s seven siblings, hence the name. “I don’t think Giovanni’s children are old enough. Raffaele?”

“Yes.” Maestro nods, pleased that Sledge remembers their names even years later. “Lucia, the older daughter, just popped out this healthy boy.”

“Did she marry her partner then? I can imagine your mum complaining about your grandma rolling in her grave if any of the Martellos were born out of wedlock.”

“Oh yeah, they married half a year ago, mamma insisted as soon as she heard Lucia was pregnant.”

“Did she complain about the food at the reception?”

“ _Please_ don’t remind me, I swear she was this close to throwing the cooks out of the kitchen and enlist all of us to prepare a better meal.”

Something bothers Sledge and he suddenly realises the room has gone completely silent. He raises his gaze to find most of the other operators either openly staring at them or very clearly eavesdropping while pretending to be busy on their phones. Walked right into it. “How come you know his family so well?”, Rook speaks up, curious, and because it’s _him_ , Sledge can’t even pretend he’s in cahoots with Maestro – after all, the young Frenchman is nothing but sincere and shows an active interest in the goings-on around him; he can’t even accuse him of harbouring second thoughts since there’s absolutely no way Rook knows anything about what happened between them.

Everyone is patiently waiting for his answer now, Maestro included who’s studying him with a triumphant, expectant smile that speaks volumes about how he genuinely believes to have taken the high road here – _he_ didn’t disclose their relationship after all. It’s enough for him to not feel any remorse whatsoever, even if he manoeuvred Sledge into a position where _he_ has to. Why he believes this to be advantageous to his goal isn’t hard to figure out: the more Sledge has to talk about what they were to each other, the more he’ll think back to it, fall into old habits. Maestro also knows of a crucial detail – Sledge is unwilling to disclose weaknesses. He’s not going to admit to the entirety of Rainbow how affected he was by their breakup.

Maybe there’s a possibility he can save this still. Stay vague, hope that Maestro doesn’t get asked directly or has the decency to stay mute about the gory details. “I visited them”, he replies to Rook’s innocent question. “We two were close.” It might fly. He’s a private person, rarely dwells on anything concerning his love life and isn’t even sure the majority knows he’s gay. Which is probably the reason everyone’s jumping at the chance to learn some potentially juicy gossip about him.

“And I was _especially_ close with his cock”, Maestro adds conversationally.

Sledge just sighs internally. So much for staying discreet. He doesn’t need to look at the Italian to know that he’s sporting a wide grin.

“What a beauty. Have any of you seen it? It’s like the rest of him, bald, large, absolutely magnificent -”

To his credit, he does shut up as soon as Sledge touches his lower back because even though he’d like to bury and forget everything that happened, he’s not above using old gestures to his advantage. It’s a small thing, barely significant – just sometimes, Maestro loses himself in his anecdotes and Sledge has agreed to signalling him whenever he does. It worked because Sledge used it very sparingly, so whenever he did, Maestro knew to stop talking. Regardless, the damage is done because now Rook’s eyes are wide, Bandit is sizing them up and Mira says something in Spanish that makes Castle choke on his lunch.

Productivity tanks for the rest of the day as an astonishing amount of people coincidentally end up in a room with either Maestro or Sledge, ask for details directly or attempt to mask it as polite conversation when everyone involved knows exactly what’s going on. Whereas Sledge refuses to disclose anything more than the absolute outline, Maestro’s tongue is loosened and voluntarily reveals a laughable amount of gossip-worthy material, most of which is praise about Sledge’s body, his physical prowess (which proved handy in every aspect of their relationship), excellent taste in people (which negates itself seeing as Maestro is proof of the opposite), tactical understanding (which extends to astoundingly many other situations like evading a disagreeable relative) and his leadership and analytical skills – it’s telling that even Maestro in his infatuated rants doesn’t claim Sledge was any good at charming people or adept at being compassionate, which is a flaw the silver-tongued Italian usually never fails to mention. He’s quite clearly trying to get on Sledge’s good side by not speaking of it at all.

Eventually, the aforementioned parties form. One doesn’t care one way or the other and is mostly just glad to have something to gossip about, one regards Maestro with suspicion and tries to steer him away from Sledge (prominently featuring Mute, unsurprisingly) and the last one is basically Maestro’s fan club who agrees with him in that Sledge should allow him to redeem himself. Fortunately, the first is the largest and the last one the smallest. Sledge would hate to split Rainbow on a matter as absurd as this, especially since it’s really nobody’s business but Maestro’s and his own.

Still. He has the feeling his most stressful days lie before rather than behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Mi723](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mi723/profile) or [Magehir](https://magehir.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for everything including but not limited to proofreading as well as inspiring me, as always.  
> I invite everyone to suffer with me in how long these two are taking to get anywhere. Please enjoy!

Parts of it are nice. That isn’t something Sledge can deny – returning to his office to find self-made halva, naan bread with a dip that’s just the right kind of hot or even just a few fresh fruits on his desk together with a note that’s usually hidden somewhere between the food so it’s not completely obvious to a neutral onlooker, always signed with _xxxx,_ it’s nice. It’s just as nice to hear how Maestro praises him behind his back, gushes about every single one of his assets and calls him every term of endearment he can think of or make up on the spot. Which are _many_. Sledge knows about his own strengths and weaknesses, is aware of his flaws and actively tries to work on them; he has an extremely realistic view of himself and therefore doesn’t require affirmation. Which doesn’t mean he doesn’t like receiving it, he’s secretly pleased about the very detailed and personal compliments that others report to him. He never runs out of tea in the base and a lot of the times he finds things in his vicinity before he realises he needs them.

Maestro was never _this_ attentive. Observant, yes, he’d criticise Sledge’s clothing, taste buds, so-called _Britishness_ for example in dealing with strangers (even though the meaning changes wildly based on context, sometimes he refers to the typical reservedness attributed to Brits, at other times public vandalism), he’d notice any fluctuations in weight, speech patterns, preferences and hobbies but he rarely did anything about it. It’s not that he took Sledge for granted or that he wasn’t generous, he just usually was too busy to focus this much on him, too easily distracted by everything else.

The parts that are not so nice are as varied as they are plentiful. Even though Sledge smiles to himself when Maestro calls him _cioccolatino_ while thinking himself unobserved, it’s less charming when he does it in front of a group where the Italian seems to actively try to undermine Sledge’s authority. He leads not through rank or connections but rather due to skill, knowledge and attitude, so when Maestro barely allows him to talk at all and keeps remarking on his phenomenal arse, the best case scenario has the other ops snickering and the worst everything falling apart. Which fortunately happens only once, followed by a stern talking to during which Maestro first apologises profusely and then comments on Sledge being fucking sexy when he’s angry.

At some point during a training exercise, Sledge is part of a team meant to infiltrate a building and capture everyone in it alive whereas Maestro belongs to the opposing group stationed in said building. With Dokkaebi’s and Mute’s help, they manage to hack into the comms and make a point of quickly switching between the cameras before anyone on the other side notices none of them are actually meant to be using them right now. That’s when they catch the middle part of a conversation between Maestro and Valkyrie: “- romantic dinner first, of course, ideally candlelight in a small, cosy place that only offers three dishes. Always be suspicious of restaurants that claim to provide food from four different cuisines, it means that next to nothing will be freshly made.”

“The hell is he on about?”, Mute murmurs irritatedly (a new development – Maestro’s mere presence, sometimes even just mentioning him sparks annoyance). Neither him nor Dokkaebi make any move to keep switching and Sledge stays silent. He thinks he can guess where this is going.

“Afterwards, a long walk on the beach with copious amounts of hand holding, awkward confessions, endless making out with a stunning sunset in the background and, once it’s set fully, stumbling back to the hotel for absolutely mind-blowing fucking during which half the furniture gets destroyed. Oh, and maybe some choking. I suppose that’d be my ideal date”, Maestro concludes with a satisfied nod while Valkyrie’s pixelated face seems to indicate she regrets ever asking about this. Assuming she even _did_ ask.

“He’s talking about you, isn’t he?”, Dokkaebi addresses Sledge who put a hand over his eyes halfway through the entirely too detailed description.

“Yeah”, he admits unwillingly. “That was our first date.”

“You don’t seem the type to put out right away.”

“To be fair, we’d been dancing around each other for a while and he’d dragged me to a number of places already but refused to call them dates.” He doesn’t even know why he feels the need to justify himself. “Also, I didn’t choke him.” Not that early anyway.

“What, _you_ were the one getting choked?!”, Mute clarifies in horror and stares at him like a teenager who just caught the parents in bed with each other. “Oh my _God_ Seamus, too much information!”

“ _No_. No one got choked. Fuck’s sake, can we focus?”

“But you did break the furniture?”

“Grace. I’m serious. Drop it.”

“When we go in, let me take him down”, Mute grumbles and directs his attention back to their original task. “And I’m not going to be gentle about it.”

Normally, Sledge would intervene, ensure that personal feelings don’t bleed into work, make a point out of assigning Mute a different objective to keep him away from Maestro but then he imagines himself being the one to neutralise him. He’d have to get close to him and though it’s nowhere near any sort of affectionate gesture, there’d be a lot of physical contact involved that Maestro would undoubtedly somehow use to his advantage – and especially with the memories of their beginning infesting his mind, Sledge doesn’t trust himself to not be affected.

Besides, it’s extraordinarily satisfying to watch Mute slam Maestro to the ground with more force than necessary.

 

But even when Maestro isn’t _trying_ to interfere with Sledge’s job, he somehow achieves that goal nonetheless, often simply by existing. It stops being funny to Sledge after the first day though he observes with increasing worry that more and more people are getting involved in whatever this is – Maestro’s courting ritual maybe or his endeavour to very slowly grind away what’s left of Sledge’s patience. When Caveira finds him hiding in a supply closet, she ignores his pleads and snitches on him by inquiring extremely loudly what he thinks he’s doing. Not even Buck is on his side and drops a few remarks about Italian sausage for which Mira high fives him.

Maybe this is a sign. Six has been pestering him about taking a few days off, maybe even a week or two – she caught wind of the whole affair and doesn’t seem best pleased about it distracting most of Rainbow. If Thermite can be trusted (which isn’t always the case, he talks _a lot_ ), then Pulse received a medium-sized bollocking for quite obviously overlooking the nature of Sledge’s and Maestro’s acquaintanceship when he wrote the initial dossier about the GIS operators. If he’d gathered more details, Mute would’ve known them too as they’d have been included in the files.

Sledge genuinely believes it to be temporary. All that needs to happen is for Maestro to spot the next shiny thing that captures his interest and the Scotsman is forgotten. He’s seen it happen, watched how Maestro dropped a local Iraqi officer like a hot potato as soon as Sledge turned up – and he’d been flirting like a fiend with the poor chap. Naturally, Sledge suffered the consequences and received the cold shoulder through no fault of his own other than the fact that Maestro decided he wanted _him_. And sometimes, Maestro would look after a particularly beautiful man or woman for longer than necessary, only to turn to Sledge and proclaim his wish to have sex _immediately_.

He’d never cheat. Sledge was never worried about that, it doesn’t matter to him where Maestro gets his appetite as long as he returns home to eat. But the underlying insecurity stayed with him nonetheless. Maestro would never cheat. But he might just dump him for someone more interesting.

So he just has to endure for now. Wait for the whole thing to blow over and hope that Maestro’s fixation shifts to someone else and if the thought of him pursuing not Sledge but another person instead makes him vaguely nauseous, this will pass as well. There is something else he has to worry about, however.

“Mark, do you have the time to help me with all the requisition forms? They’ve been piling up and I’d really appreciate it.”

Mute, who is increasingly hanging around the younger operators like Rook, Twitch and Glaz who all have taken to avoiding Maestro like the plague, nods straightaway at the quiet request. Normally, he’d make a show out of demanding something in return or mouthing off as if Sledge was a strict superior, but he never once turns him down seeing as Sledge rarely asks for assistance as it is. This time, his agreement is simple enough – he probably feels Sledge deserves a break. “Sure”, he replies and then inexplicably start yelling through the canteen: “Yo, James! Wanna help Seamus with his paperwork?”

Smoke has _never_ helped anyone with any sort of paperwork that didn’t ultimately lead to him acquiring a troubling amount of dangerous chemicals. Sledge has tried to enlist him a few times but has since refrained due to not wanting to see his office being set on fire _again_. Why Mute is asking for his help is a mystery up to the point where Maestro’s head snaps up. “I’ll help”, he butts in eagerly. “Sounds like fun.”

“Sure”, Mute responds with a slightly manic smile, “if tax returns are your idea of _fun_. Let’s go.”

It takes Sledge about ten minutes to understand why Mute manipulated Maestro into joining them – because there’s no doubt that that’s exactly what happened – and when he does, he shoots the young man an exasperated glare. After a few failed attempts to initiate a conversation, Maestro resigned to his fate of actually having to _work_. And Sledge should’ve seen it coming. Maestro is too proud to admit he has no idea what he’s doing yet simultaneously not familiar enough with the way the SAS organises its files and therefore completely unable to do _anything_ but powerlessly stare at the finely printed papers in front of him. He manages to surreptitiously snatch one of Mute’s completed ones and extrapolates some basics from it but ultimately it’s hopeless, so instead he’s falling into despair in silence.

Mute is doing a terrible job of hiding his shit eating grin while he pretends to be fully absorbed in a task that he usually completes while simultaneously reading academic articles on his phone. _Immature_ doesn’t even begin to describe his behaviour.

Sledge can’t help but take pity on the increasingly desperate-looking Italian: “Adriano. I think Echo was looking for you earlier, you should probably -” He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before Maestro agrees wholeheartedly and flees the room. This is when Mute starts to giggle. “That was not funny.”

“Shut up, it was _hilarious_! Did you see his face? I’ve never seen him this lost. Serves him right, maybe now he’ll stop jumping on every chance to breathe the same air as you.” For some reason, he starts laughing harder and Sledge feels the corners of his own mouth turn upwards despite trying to stay professional. “Did you – oh God – did you notice him flailing at the forms? That was so _painfully_ Italian.”

“Was he?”

“Yeah! How did you not notice? At first, he was trying to keep still but then he started gesturing at the – did you really not see it? It was like he was having an argument with an inanimate object, and over time he only got more insistent.” Sledge is racking his brain but genuinely can’t recall any of what Mute is describing, much to his bemusement. “Are you blind? Do you just stare behind him instead of looking at him? What about all the superstitious gestures he does?”

“The what?”

Now Mute is starting to look like he’s about to have an aneurysm. “He always steps through a door with his right foot. He never sits at the corner of a table. He nearly fainted when Zofia _mentioned_ owning a black cat and ran as soon as she offered to show pictures. And he always makes this weird sign that looks like the metal fork pointed downwards, like when Ryad dropped a salt shaker or when Jordan swept the corridors and chased him with a broom. Who in the world is scared of a broom?”

Sledge is blinking at his teammate, uncomprehending. He does vaguely recall Maestro telling him about le corna, the sign of the horns that’s used to ward off bad luck but he hasn’t actually noticed him using it. “Does he really?”

“Holy shit, Seamus, you really have it bad, don’t you? What is he, a siren? Does your brain turn off in his presence, what’s going on? Please tell me you at least notice him humming to himself all the time.” Silence. Mute is getting more and more agitated. “You don’t – oh my God. You’re aware that he has a beard, yes? Do you even look at his face at all? You know about the scar?”

Oh. He does have a scar, doesn’t he? It’s become such a normalcy, just one of the many parts that together form Maestro as a whole, that Sledge barely notices it at all. Now that he thinks about it, all the aspects Mute mentioned, the gesturing, the superstitions, the humming, all of them he registered in the beginning, was in part charmed by them but they quickly lost their specialness, didn’t warrant any comments anymore and eventually weren’t even worth observing. And recently, he’s been too preoccupied with avoiding him to re-assess him as a person. To make the effort of refreshing his memory, recalling who and how Maestro really _is_ without allowing the phantom he constructed to distort that image – the version of Maestro he built in a time of confusion, hurt and wrath.

It’s still on his mind later when he’s taking Diana for a walk, watching her chase a tennis ball he throws through half the park with a lolling tongue and infinite excitement, happily barking at everything that moves and might steal her prey from her. Simply seeing her dash through the grass and unfailingly jump past the ball whenever it bounces is cathartic, the repetition of it all helping to calm his thoughts. It seems he’s in an odd, mixed state of both being too fixated on Maestro and not paying him enough attention. Nowadays, his entire schedule is based on trying to evade him, he’s constantly on Sledge’s mind and yet apparently he still manages to miss important details.

There is a choice he has to make: either he stops being a hypocrite and genuinely attempts to do what he demanded of Maestro himself – namely making an effort towards treating each other like colleagues – or he agrees to hear Maestro out. He can’t do both, he knows this. He also knows he’s dangerously close to being ensnared once again, won over by persistence coupled with all that he always liked about Maestro. The list is long. He’s been trying to badmouth him to himself and it’s working to an extent even if it’s childish. He expected better of himself, deems himself logical and reasonable and really, he should approach this from a different angle.

Be professional. Refuse any and all food he leaves him. Ignore his comments. Interact with him whenever necessary and stay neutral.

He can do this.

 

~*~

 

There is no way in hell he can do this.

He’s lying in the grass, propped up on one elbow, his other hand holding on to fabric, and just staring at the oh so familiar colours interwoven in the familiar pattern, normally representing his clan and ancestry, now and then filling him with a sense of belonging that’s nothing but sentimental yet he cherishes it nonetheless. He runs his thumb over it, speechless for the moment due to the _audacity_ and the slightly guilty look from Maestro who’s still perched atop him, the pain in his back forgotten for now. “You’re pulling my leg”, Sledge says since there are no words. Just… no words.

It’s another training exercise and this time, Maestro and Sledge are on the same side together with a few others who haven’t seen Maestro in action so far. It’s undoubtedly intentional – Sledge is probably meant to assess how he fits in, whether the operators accept Maestro’s role. At first, after having been given their assignment, they look to the Scotsman for a battle plan, expecting him to take the helm and establish the most efficient course of action as he usually does. Instead, Maestro steps up, exchanges a nod with him to make sure he’s not overstepping his boundaries and surprisingly quickly summarises all that they know before suggesting an approach that Sledge would’ve deemed too risky but Maestro’s justification holds up when he questions him. He tacks on a story of how he did something similar way back when and Sledge lets him mostly because everyone else is too busy staring at the Italian in shock to pay much attention to the anecdote.

None of them expected Maestro to be this frightfully competent because even when Sledge points out a few eccentricities of the building they’re about to storm that Maestro can’t have known, he merely adapts his plan on the fly, assigns and reassigns roles quickly based on the new information and makes it all seem effortless. He even factors in minor differences between the people available, knows exactly who’s better at long or short range, who is more comfortable bringing up the rear rather than leading and mentions a few things in passing that unambiguously prove just how much general information he’s gathered on the people around him. It seems most people forgot that Six recruits only the best operators worldwide and allowed Maestro’s jovial nature fool them. They’re not the first to fall for it.

Unsurprisingly, Maestro groups himself together with Sledge and also Smoke – they’re going to cover one exit, the second team the other. However, while they’re creeping up the stairs, Maestro listening for every tiny sound, Sledge watching the floor below which the other team is currently sweeping, a fundamental difference in Smoke’s and Maestro’s approach to their work pops up.

“Fuck me sideways”, Smoke whispers as he inspects the grenades on his belt, “I brought live ones.”

If Sledge hadn’t been so focused on scanning every doorway for movement, he’d have laughed in spite of how awful and overused the joke is. To him it’s obvious Smoke is kidding but judging by Maestro’s horrified expression, he hasn’t encountered anyone who would dare to dick around like this during a serious exercise so far. Sledge is going to enjoy informing him that Smoke once brought a water pistol on an actual mission and squirted ink into a terrorist’s face before bribing everyone who saw it to not tell. He doesn’t get the chance to inform Maestro that the grenades are at worst tear gas, because they’re suddenly informed by their dedicated intelligence operator, Twitch, that there’s an ambush lying in wait for them just around the corner.

In the end, they rappel in instead during which Smoke gets to kick Blackbeard in the face and cackle unapologetically about it before they meet up with the rest of their team to clear the first floor together. Maestro continues to show off his skills and it’s not hard to notice how impressed pretty much everyone is with him. Even Sledge has to admit that watching him causes an odd kind of inspiration, the urge to put his decisions in his capable hands and follow his every order without hesitation.

Then Smoke drops one of his grenades.

“Oh shit”, is all he has to say, proudly presenting the pin between his fingers. “Oops.”

And the next thing Sledge knows is that he’s flying out the window behind him. There was no warning whatsoever, a split second passing between him pondering the best retort to Smoke’s alleged gaffe and a solid weight tackling his midriff, basically making him fold in half and forcing all the air out of his lungs right before he crashes through the half-smashed barricade previously barring the opening to the outside. The air time is short yet long enough for him to realise what happened, get pissed and brace himself for an uncomfortable landing. He hits the ground, hard, and if there was anything left in his lungs now there definitely isn’t. The bruises are probably going to be colourful despite him falling onto relatively soft dirt, but at least Maestro didn’t land on him, instead somehow catches himself on all fours around Sledge and groans at the impact. He’s lucky if he hasn’t broken a bone.

Sledge stays where he is, stretched out in the grass and staring up at a panicked Italian who theoretically saved his life if Smoke really was as dumb as he looked. “That was”, he gasps in between gulps of air, each of which hurts, “fucking idiotic.” And as if on cue, harmless smoke starts drifting out the same first floor window out of which Maestro bodyslammed him.

“But kinda cool, admit it”, Maestro replies and sits up with a moan, settles on Sledge’s hips and inspects the window in question just as Smoke sticks his head out with an exaggerated ‘not bad’ expression. “See? _He_ thinks it’s cool.” Absent-mindedly and only just regaining his composure, Maestro starts brushing splintered wood pieces and dust off his uniform, wincing. His left hand gets stuck on something and Sledge follows it with his gaze instinctively, wants to warn him but is too late – Maestro pulls the wood out where it’s been impaled into his side and doesn’t even notice at first how blood starts gushing out of the tear that reaches all the way to his skin. When he does, all he offers is an astonished: “Oh.”

“You hurt yourself.” Sledge isn’t much better. The heavy impact weighs him down still, not to mention Maestro is straddling him, so his brain is slightly muddled.

“Yeah, I sprained my wrist.”

“ _That_ is not a fucking sprained wrist!”, Sledge barks at him and indicates the crimson liquid slowly soaking the fabric around the ripped clothing. “James, get Doc!” Smoke gives him a thumbs up and disappears. “Let me see how bad it is. Which wrist did you sprain?” They’re both slowly recovering from the shock and returning to routine.

“The right one. Madonna, that’s going to be a pain. How am I supposed to cook? _Ow_ , can’t you be more careful, tesoro?”

“Don’t be such a drama Queen”, Sledge grumbles as he unzips, unclasps and unbuttons everything that’s in the way while trying not to pay too much attention to the fact that he’s undressing Maestro as he balances him on his hips. “You swan dive out of the first floor and then have the nerve to complain about me being rough. You know that I bruise easily, my entire back will be purple.”

Maestro is grinning now and awkwardly shrugging off his clothes over the injured wrist, exposing the right side of his chest that’s still as beautifully sculpted as it is mostly covered in dark hair that’s _begging_ for Sledge to run his fingers through it, especially the thick trail running from his navel to the waistband of his trousers. Gingerly, he peels off the other side as well, notices in passing that there’s something that wasn’t there before but first and foremost focuses on the wound. It’s not too wide but probably requires stitches.

Then, as he moves to pull off the sleeve, his eyes are drawn back to what he now identifies as a tattoo, to his knowledge the only one Maestro has – the fact that he got one in the first place is surprising, he claims to prefer natural bodies. On the tanned skin, the bright red and green stick out less than they would on Sledge’s pale chest but it’s still glaringly obvious what it is. He stills. Maestro does, too, he must’ve forgotten about the tattoo’s existence because his expression seems to imply this was not at all intended and isn’t _that_ a terrifying thought because it implies that he’s had the motif done quite a while ago.

It’s his clan’s tartan. A small patch of it but unmistakeable in its colours and pattern, and the ink sits right above Maestro’s heart. “You’re pulling my leg”, Sledge tells him, stupefied, and brushes his thumb over the tattoo, over warm skin and coarse hair and doesn’t know what else to say. It’s not new, he can tell that much, the edges softened over time and probably due to the same sun that kissed his skin. Again, it’s entirely in character for him, he’s exactly the kind of person who would do this, who would do this to _him_. Sledge’s level-headedness usually doesn’t inspire heartfelt, grand romantic gestures like this, usually it’s direct words, maybe thoughtful gifts, affectionate touches which warm him from the inside – all that Maestro does sets him on fire instead.

And despite the fact that he’s still bleeding from his side and must be in a world of pain, Maestro just reaches up with his unharmedhand, rests it on Sledge’s, curls his fingers around it and looks at him, simply _looks_ , holds his gaze with soft eyes and also remains silent. They’re both not moving, Maestro’s heartbeat is at Sledge’s fingertips and the urge to grab his shoulder or the back of his neck, pull him down and _feel_ him is almost unbearable. Yet he refuses to give in. He’s been burned before and still his hand stays where it is.

This is how Doc finds them a minute later.

 

“What a twat”, Mute announces with an unimpressed scowl.

Sledge is sitting next to him at their small table, head in his hands and cheeks uncomfortably warm. Looking back, the moment reeks of cheesiness, exactly like something Maestro would carefully orchestrate even though no one can deny that he wouldn’t go so far as to sprain his own wrist for it. Even now, hours later, Sledge is still flushing every time he thinks of how lovingly they gazed into each other’s eyes and how ridiculous they must’ve looked to anyone else. He allowed himself to get caught up in whatever it was and earned himself meaningful and expectant glances from the rest of Rainbow throughout the day. “I should retire”, he mumbles around his palms, “or change jobs. My career is over. They’re never going to let me live this down, Mark, don’t pretend they will.”

“Yeah, they won’t”, comes the reply entirely too fast, letting Sledge know unmistakably that the news has travelled throughout the entire base already, “which is a shame. The part where you two undressed each other with your eyes – urgh – isn’t what everyone should be talking about. Maestro genuinely thought James somehow smuggled live grenades with him. How lax does he think our security is? You would decapitate him even if he actually managed to pull it off. Why isn’t anyone making fun of him for that?”

“Maybe because he literally would’ve saved my life if that had been a real one.”

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re going soft because of that.”

“He even hurt himself in the process.”

“If he knew that your opinion of him is changing favourably because of that, he’d break both legs as well.” Mute shakes his head in disbelief and takes a swig of his cider just as Smoke approaches their table with a grin. “How is it? Are they finally talking about something other than the soap opera that unfolded earlier?”

“Give it five minutes and the simple act of laying eyes on you isn’t going to make them break out into hysterical laughter anymore”, Smoke reassures Sledge. It’s a spontaneous pub night since apart from Maestro’s panic-induced dive, the rest of the training exercises went off without a hitch and left everyone giddy and restless, residues from the adrenaline highs that prevent them from getting tired and therefore necessitate some way of expending the excess energy. For obvious reasons, Maestro was the main focus of conversation between the twenty-odd people and Sledge endured a staggering amount of teasing until Mute got genuinely pissed and dragged him away to a different table. “But after you left, they rated Maestro’s and your performance. Everyone agrees that your landing was better but you lost points due to flailing like an idiot while you were falling.”

“And no one’s talking about that bloody cringy tattoo? Who _does_ that? I suppose we should be glad he didn’t carve your name into his thigh or started self-flagellating as a show of remorse.”

Smoke snorts at Mute’s righteous indignation and leans in for a peck on his lips. “Babe, give it a rest. Your scowling probably fuels him and I bet he only remembers you as the bloke who basically snogged him within half a minute of meeting. You’re more upset about any of this than Seamus is. Can you keep my gum? I gotta go to the loo and win a bet.”

“If you’re going to drink someone’s piss, I’m dumping you.” Regardless, Mute tilts his head up and allows Smoke to basically shove both his tongue and his chewing gum into his mouth before turning to leave. “What, that’s it? I don’t even get a proper kiss?”

“You’d just try to jam it between my teeth or push it down my throat. You can maul me afterwards.”

“Not if you don’t tell me what else you put in your mouth first.”

“How unlike you to complain about me putting things in my mouth, babe.”

“You two are disgusting”, Sledge states and watches, bemused, as Mute sticks the gum to the underside of the tabletop as soon as Smoke is out of sight. “I don’t even know why I’m friends with you both.”

“Because he’d probably try to shove his gum into _your_ mouth if I wasn’t here. Speaking of disgusting, what did you ever see in Maestro?”

Smooth transition. With how aggressively Mute is treating the whole subject, Sledge is just glad he hasn’t resorted to name-calling yet. His blunt honestly is one of the qualities Sledge appreciates about him though he admittedly is known to go overboard whenever he feels unjustly provoked – besides, he quickly turns radical whenever it concerns friends of his. Sledge knows all of it is based on a protective instinct that Mute would probably deny, claiming everyone he knows is more than capable of taking care of themselves (which, in Smoke’s case, is a blatant lie) though it hardly stops him from offering advice.

The issue is obvious: Sledge gave Maestro a wide berth in the beginning, immediately arousing Mute’s suspicion who only knows him as ridiculously polite, so his behaviour was alarmingly out of character – not to mention the failed dinner date during which Sledge disclosed the details of their relationship while admittedly angry. Mute’s view of him is skewed, biased since all Sledge told him, all he allowed him to see firmly cemented Mute’s dislike and distrust. It’s not fair to either of them.

“If you really want to know, we’d be sitting here tomorrow still.” Mute’s brows draw together in annoyed confusion. He was ready to gossip or bitch about Maestro some more and obviously didn’t expect this answer. “Concerning his abilities, he definitely earned his spot here. He works fantastically in teams, even better in smaller groups. He possesses all the skills that I do and many more on top, coaxing information out of people is a piece of cake for him – you’ve seen him in action. He actually did manage to extract from IQ what she did during her gap year in detail which none of us have managed in three years. You know I don’t sugar coat this kind of thing, Mark.”

“Those are his professional achievements. If I wanted a CV, I’d ask Six. Look at Lion, his track record is impressive but he’s a mess as a person. So is Bandit. I really don’t understand, he doesn’t seem your type _whatsoever_. He’s too loud. He can’t sit still. He’s just…”

He is all of those things, and more. He’s invasive, brash and boisterous. But all Sledge can think of is the time he was seriously ill and Maestro tended to his every need with an amusing air of the overdramatic without even hinting at a complaint. Every instance where he seemed to read Sledge’s mind and steered his current conversation towards or away from a certain topic. The moments in which the teacher in him showed and he spent entire days just lecturing Sledge or figuring something out together with him. He never wasted an opportunity for a display of fondness that Sledge accepted vaguely befuddled but with a smile, gestures that at first triggered insecurities about not being affectionate enough until he realised that Maestro had long understood that Sledge preferred using words instead of actions and accepted this fact without batting an eye. Maestro was content in giving and received most of his joy simply from Sledge’s pleased reactions. They worked well.

“We complemented each other.” Speaking it makes him realise it’s the truth. Their differences sometimes caused clashes yet hardly serious enough to spark an argument, instead he allowed Maestro time to withdraw and cool his temper before they talked it through. For how much time they actually spent together, they got on disgustingly well, never failed to discuss any of the relevant events that happened that day when going to bed, shared everything that could be shared and even spent the nights wrapped around each other where Sledge had always preferred to keep sleeping and cuddling separate. Mute, however, doesn’t seem to understand, judging by his expression. “What would you do if James dumped you? Out of the blue?”

“I’d fucking beat him up”, comes the answer entirely too quickly.

“And if he wanted you back after a while?”

“Make him beg.” Sledge’s lips curve into a smile while Mute ponders the question more earnestly after his initially flippant replies. “I don’t know. I guess I’d demand an explanation first. I couldn’t tell you what I’d do without knowing more details.” Frowning, he looks up when Smoke joins them once more, collapsing into the chair next to him with a victorious grimace that unmistakably tells a story of both triumph and nausea. “What would you do if I broke up with you for no reason, love?”

It’s rare for Mute to use pet names – the topic must be making him slightly anxious for he also interlaces his fingers with Smoke’s under the table. Normally, this would be a perfect setup for a quip but Smoke indubitably noticed Mute’s troubled mood. “Probably yell at you first, drink myself into a coma next, wake up at five in the morning, drag myself to our flat and sob outside the door until I create a puddle on the other side that makes you slip on it when you come to throw me out, which in turn makes you lose your memories of why you wanted to break up with me in the first place and from then on, be a model boyfriend so it never gets to that point again.”

“That’s oddly specific”, Sledge points out, amused.

“I’ve thought about it intensely. Remember when he was on that mission in Russia? He was gone for so fucking long I was contemplating death, the end of everything I ever loved and even wondering whether a monarchy isn’t outdated in these times. It was gruelling. I almost committed high treason.”

“I was gone for three days”, Mute corrects but sounds pleased regardless.

“Like I said – an eternity. We’re talking about Mister Swallow Dive, yeah?” Both Sledge and Mute nod. “I would just like to point out that while he was a bloody hero with impressive reaction time, he actively chose this route instead of just throwing himself onto the grenade, which would’ve saved me as well. So he values a life where _you’re_ both alive more than one where we two are. I take personal offence to that. By the way, you’re not chewing, babe. Where’s my gum?”

“Did you win your bet? You reek of hot dog water.”

“Yeah. I managed to get it all down _before_ puking. Which is why I gave you -”

“James, I’m not your gum dumpster.” Both of them break out into immature giggles at this. “Did you rinse your mouth, you pillock?”

“Of course, even brushed my teeth. Craig told me about it in advance, so I came prepared.”

“Good. There’s a bloke over there giving us the stink eye, so we gotta suck face until he gets pissed enough. You wanted to fight tonight, didn’t you?”

“You’re too good to me, babe.” With a wide smirk, Smoke straddles his lover and initiates an incredibly showy make out session whose purpose does nothing to diminish its effect on Sledge. There’s a lot of tongue involved, wandering hands and even muffled moans and suddenly, he feels warm skin and coarse hair under his fingers again, sees a shapely chest before his inner eye and he finally gets it.

Deep down, there was always a stab of jealousy whenever Maestro’s gaze followed someone else because even though it unfailingly returned to him, the residual idea of _it’s not really me whom he wants_ was a persistent weed immune to the pesticides of logic he applied. Now, he understands. He’s not interested in either of them, not in the least, but merely _looking_ at his friends sparks an unexpected, roaring desire whose intensity overwhelms him. For a moment, it’s so vicious he’s extremely glad Maestro isn’t physically present or else he wouldn’t be responsible for his own actions anymore, then the feeling fortunately subsides again, fades to a subtle throbbing seeing as the object of his desire can’t be found anywhere. It’s not his teammates, it’s the associations and memories that trigger this sensation.

While they were together, he was usually sated where Maestro was absolutely insatiable. Sledge had no reason to develop this sort of longing when he was nothing but content; now, however, he can’t deny he misses it all fiercely. His dreams have come back recently, full of purple seas, friendly faces framed by dark hair, endless sunshine and an all-encompassing feeling of contentment that leaves him achingly empty when he wakes up. Diana relishes the chance to cuddle with him whenever he does, she’s usually not allowed on his bed but he’s started making increasingly frequent exceptions.

“Wait, babe”, Smoke mumbles against Mute’s lips, “there’s a flaw in this. Seamus is going to defuse it all before the bloke can even call us poofs.”

Sledge gets up with a sigh and stretches his stiff back that never stopped aching ever since the hard impact earlier. “Don’t worry, boys, I’ll be too busy getting shitfaced to care. Knock yourselves out. Literally.”

 

~*~

 

His mood is rotten as it is. After he woke up with a killer hangover for probably the third time this month already, almost fell over Diana and had to console her for ten minutes because he felt terrible about coming this close to potentially hurting her and got completely soaked on his way to the base, so when he’s greeted by a loud voice that sounds like Doc, his immediate impulse is to turn on his heel and walk back out again. Doc yelling at someone is literally never a good sign, it’s an indicator of someone’s stupidity and/or recklessness despite the fact it’s this early in the morning and no one could’ve possibly hurt themselves already. Sledge has no choice than to bite the bullet, however, and follow the irate voice tinted with a French accent echoing through the corridors.

It leads him to the hallway in front of the workshop where a small group has gathered whose composition makes his heart sink already: the chaos twins on one side, being berated by the Frenchman, and Maestro and Alibi on the other, the latter glaring daggers at Mute and Smoke. Maestro, the only one who seems unbothered, welcomes him with a warm smile, smoothing Alibi’s ruffled feathers temporarily by stroking over her upper arm and muttering something in their mother tongue, and then approaches Sledge to fill him in quietly. “Your cucciolo was a little too eager to defend its master”, he starts and has Sledge immediately pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What did he do?”

“Reprogrammed one of the evil eyes to shoot everything that moves.”

“He _what_?!”

“Managed to land Bandit in sick bay. Normally, I’d be the first in the workshop.”

Sledge is stunned. There’s only one way this could’ve gone – the two sneaked into the base last night, still intoxicated, otherwise Mute wouldn’t have had the time seeing as he likes to sleep as long as he can usually. Even then, he can’t believe Mute would actually resort to physical harm, he’s not normally this petty or malicious. Dumbfounded, he looks over at the young man who’s worryingly pale and leaning against Smoke who seems both exhausted from last night’s activities as well as oddly calm which isn’t surprising given how often he’s gotten into trouble before. “Is the thing still live?”

Maestro nods. “Doesn’t react to any sort of remote control either. Doc said to wait for either Monty or Blitz so we can use their shields.”

“Nonsense. Also a terrible idea because both of them are going to snitch immediately. Get Doc to quieten down, I’ll be right back.” Trusting the Italian to understand what he’s planning to do, he leaves again, hurries over to where his belongings are kept and returns as quickly as possible with his hammer in his hands.

“You’re _not_ -”, Doc starts as soon as he catches sight of him, moving to block his path but Sledge dodges him easily.

“Watch me”, he replies and opens the door to the workshop. A foreboding mechanical whirring announces the location of the rogue Cleave that’s mounted on the back wall that’s furthest from the door – tactically a good decision for what Mute intended to do and solidifying Sledge’s assessment of him as a fucking shithead. The visor opens slowly as Sledge runs towards the gadget but he’s not fast enough, the device starts shooting before he can reach it. The bundled bursts of energy aim for his torso, hitting his arms instead and he wasn’t prepared for how much they _sting_. It’s like being touched by a branding iron, concentrated heat that seems to cook his skin and make him hiss in pain, flinch and run into a table or two on his way to the devilish Cleave.

Smashing it is insanely satisfying. Mechanical and electronic parts explode in a veritable fountain, raining down on the ground and rolling everywhere. He’s always liked the rush he gets from destroying things and right now it’s particularly blissful. He admires his handiwork for a few seconds, trying to ignore the throbbing in his arms, and suppresses any guilt upon seeing such an intricate device blown to pieces. He’ll make sure it gets replaced.

He herds everyone into the room and addresses Mute first: “You should get suspended.”

His remorseful expression slips into utter shock. “What? No, I -”

“I should send you over to Six so you can explain in detail why an expensive gadget ended up demolished and why both Dom and I suffered these injuries.” He presents his exposed arms that are displaying several burns each, luckily nothing serious. Bandit was probably wearing black, as usual, and his clothes might’ve caught on fire. He should check up on him later.

Mute is now looking faintly queasy, the consequences of what he might’ve judged to be a relatively harmless prank only now hitting him. “Please don’t”, he pleads quietly. His track record so far is unmarred and Sledge knows he’d like it to stay that way.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Sledge waits patiently while the young man struggles to come up with an answer. “Because I’m going to rebuild it. Today. And – and I’m going to apologise.”

“To whom?”

His eyes flick over to Maestro who’s watching them with a slight smile. “To Dom. …and to Maestro. And probably Manu and Elena too, seeing as they built this thing. And to you. For being a bloody knobhead.” He notices Sledge’s expectant expression – he’s not done yet. “What else do you want me to do? Fuck. I’m going clean the toilets for a month. Still not good enough? When I’m done putting this thing back together, I’ll run for the rest of the day and you know how much I hate running. I’ll run until my legs fall off. Shit.”

This is when Sledge finally nods. “Do all of that and we’ll never speak of this again. Alright?” Questioningly, he looks at Doc and Alibi especially who both nod, Doc frowning and Alibi scowling. Maestro himself is too amused to hold any sort of grudge and Smoke isn’t going to tell on his boyfriend anyway.

“Aren’t you lucky that your father is looking out for you like this”, Alibi turns to Mute with a dissatisfied sneer and this is when Sledge realises he’s not the only one with an overprotective friend. It’s probably a miracle she hasn’t grabbed Mute by the balls yet and threatened to cut them off should he ever try to lay a finger on Maestro again.

Her comment wouldn’t have given anyone pause if Mute hadn’t immediately blushed and spat: “Shut up.”

“What’s going on?”, Sledge demands to know suspiciously.

“He called you dad before.”

“I most certainly _didn’t_.”

“Babe, you’re being awfully defensive”, Smoke butts in as well now.

“ _Shut up!_ ”

And just like that, Sledge’s headache is pounding more fiercely than the burns on his arms. “Mark, am I a father figure to you?”

“No! _No!_ Just – I’m going to wait for Manu. Bye.” Mute strides out of the room, face bright red and everyone else staring after him. If he’s honest, it sheds light on a few aspects of their interactions that left Sledge bemused and explains not only Mute’s urge to guard his honour but also his distrust of almost everyone who approaches Sledge with romantic intent. The way a child in a divorced household would whenever a new suitor appears. Holy hell.

“Congratulations on fatherhood”, Doc tells him drily and also leaves with the huffy aura of someone important whose time was phenomenally wasted.

“Do you feel that sort of punishment is justified?”, Alibi addresses Sledge doubtfully.

“Yes. An official rebuke would’ve made him resentful and incentivised him to not get caught next time. This way, I’m pretty sure there’s not going to _be_ a next time because he owes me now. He knows better than to get on my bad side. And apparently he cares about whether I’m disappointed in him.” This last part still bewilders him. “Also, Elena terrifies him so he’s going to have a bad time. James? You know what to do?”

“Of course. Clean this shit up, make sure he does all the things he said he’d do and then run a few laps with him. I know you know I tried to deter him just as much as we both know my heart wasn’t in it. Sorry you almost got zapped, Maestro, and sorry you got zapped for real, Seamus. Get yourself to Doc’s office and patch up.”

“I’ll join you”, Maestro announces quickly and addresses Alibi in Italian: “It’s alright, sunshine, trust him. He knows what he’s doing.”

“He’d better keep his puppy on a short leash.” She stalks out as well, leaving the three men and the shattered gadget alone in the workshop.

“You know, for a while there I was a little worried”, Smoke announces while already starting to pick up the bits and pieces. Under other circumstances, Sledge would tell him to wait and return to the conversation later but something in his friend’s voice stops him. “Mark was really obsessing about all of this.”

“Why worried?”, Sledge asks and inspects his injuries a little more closely now that he has the time. They’re mostly small, circular burns that are throbbing hotly with every heartbeat but don’t actually look too serious.

“Ah you know. You’re good friends. _Very_ good friends. And he really hates the idea of – well. You probably know what’s going on, Maestro?”

“I can guess the majority of it”, the Italian assures him.

“Are you seriously telling me you thought Mark was _jealous_? That’s absurd. He’s head over heels for you.”

“You say that so easily, but how can I know for sure? What if he wanted you but you turned him down so he settled for me? Or what if he just never did anything about it?”

“James, you’re being ridiculous. If you’re unsure, just ask him.”

“But what if I’m insecure and don’t dare to ask? Or what if I’m pig-headed and think I already have all the answers?”

“Then it’s your own damn fault. There’s nothing to be worried about.”

“Oh. Alright then.” Smoke flashes him a smirk that somehow makes him think there’s more to their conversation than it seems. He’s unsure what exactly, however, Mute does seem to be guarding him jealously but has never shown any sort of romantic interest in him whatsoever, not even before he caught sight of Smoke. Besides, the two are enough at ease with each other that a breakup sounds ridiculous to Sledge.

“Let’s go”, he turns to Maestro who’s examining him pensively and ushers him out of the room. “How’s your wrist doing?”

Maestro heaves a long-suffering sigh. “It’s extremely annoying. Have you ever tried dressing with the wrong hand? Brushing your teeth? Eating? I feel like an idiot, amore, Aria won’t stop laughing at me. I tried reading a book while lying down and smacked myself in the face with it three times before giving up. I don’t regret saving your life but Madonna, this part I could really do without.”

“Oh yes, you saved my life heroically from the dangers of second-hand smoke. My lungs are forever indebted to you and it’s only thanks to your sacrifice that I’m able to stand here and breathe freely – ow!” Sledge shields his ribs from another painful jab with a grin. “That’s hardly fair, I can’t hit you back. By the way, how’s your wound?”

“Mostly just annoying, too.” They step into the unlocked office that’s lit up, indicating someone’s presence though Doc is nowhere to be seen. “Though I’ve bled through the bandage already.” Maestro lifts his shirt to expose the gauze that’s tinted a reddish-brown in the middle and, completely without thinking, Sledge reaches out and brushes over the edges of it where it’s taped to the darker skin, the colour a stark contrast to the pristine white. He’s a magnet, Sledge has no excuse but touches him anyway, holds his breath as he feels the warmth under his digits and Maestro keeps still, allows Sledge’s palm to taste his body heat as well, his fingers to splay over his belly, wander over to his unharmed side and curl around it, and neither of them is breathing now.

He’s dangerous. Sledge has known this since the beginning, realised early that he’s being lured in by words appealing to his ego and attention- as well as affection-starved self, pointed prodding needling his self-control but ultimately, he gave in because it was the only logical choice, let himself be devoured whole, swallowed and trapped. He needs to stop touching him right this instant, they’re alone and Maestro’s eyes are filled with so much devotion and wonder, are so full of _hope_ that if he doesn’t pull himself together in the next second, Sledge is going to kiss him.

He can already feel Maestro’s beard on his lips, remembers with vivid clarity how they kissed when they were both caught up in a moment, passionate and uncaring about anything surrounding them, as if nothing else existed, as if nothing else _mattered_ but them – and it’d be like that, deep, intimate, _longing_ , one hand on Maestro’s hip holding him in place, the other carding through his short hair. It’s the most tempting vision he’s ever encountered his entire life, it pulls at his being, seems to drag him forwards, entices him to just let go.

Before he can do anything, however, Bandit’s head appears from behind Doc’s desk, a blister pack between his lips and a sceptical expression on his face. “The fuck are you doing?”, he mumbles and frowns at Sledge who’s still basically groping Maestro in the middle of the medical office.

Sighing, Sledge withdraws his hand and does his best not to pay any attention to Maestro’s gaze burning into his skull with a frightening intensity. “I can ask you the same thing. Are you raiding Doc’s cabinets again?”

Bandit hesitates and slowly removes the pills so they’re not visible anymore. “No?”

“Do I need to turn you upside down and shake you until everything falls out of your pockets or are you going to put it all back?”

A thoughtful squint. “How about I return everything and you don’t say a word about it just like I won’t snitch about whatever the fuck it is you two were doing just now?”

“Can you keep quiet about Mark meddling with Cleave, too?”

“Oh, are you covering for the little shit? Deal. Basically no harm done. Though the fucking thing stings like hell, doesn’t it?” The German gets up and watches with a look of defeat as a few more assorted packages fall out of his sleeves. “I’ll just – don’t pay me any attention and patch yourselves up, I’ll probably be here a while.”

Sledge would probably have preferred being tended to by Doc or even by Bandit instead of Maestro because his gentle touches do nothing to sate the roaring inside of him, the insistent demand for something his active mind tells him he needs to avoid at all cost. Even so, they manage to chat some more after an initial awkwardness and it’s almost _normal_. Bantering with him is somehow easier than with some of the people Sledge has known for three years now, their quips feel natural, unforced and it’s the first time ever since he arrived that there’s a semblance of camaraderie between them instead of one-sided flirting.

He’s not fooled. It’s an indication of Maestro noticing he’s getting under his skin. It’s a sign of him getting cocky.

 

Mute collapses at his feet, just throws himself into the dirt and greedily sucks in air with big gulps. He’s sweaty and thoroughly exhausted and will indubitably feel like shit for possibly two, three days, his legs feeling like wet noodles for the rest of the day. He’s _not_ having a good time. “Do you think you’re done already?”, Sledge asks him softly and earns a loud groan and a swat at his trouser leg. “Sure you can’t do one more?”

“I’m dying”, Mute gasps, “send Doc with oxygen. I can’t fucking breathe.”

Sledge leans back on his bench and refrains from pointing out that lying down is the worst thing he can do in his situation. Instead, he looks around the base, follows some of his SAS colleagues with his eyes and waits until Mute has caught his breath again. “You know I would be furious if it’d been directed against anyone else as well”, he informs the younger man flatly, “but the fact that it was _personal_ makes it worse.”

“Can we not do this?” Mute is putting one arm over his eyes now, hiding his face. “You’re not going to tell me anything I don’t know. I fucked up. It was bad. Let’s move on.”

“Did you apologise to everyone?”

“Yeah. Didn’t James tell you? I re-built the stupid Marvin-looking thing – which was awful, by the way, Manu glared at me the entire time and Elena was… well, her usual self –, went around and grovelled and then did _this_. Fuck. I can’t feel my feet.”

“I know for a fact there’s someone to whom you _haven’t_ apologised.”

Mute removes his arm again and blinks up at him for a few seconds. “Seamus. I’m sorry.”

“There’s a ‘but’, isn’t there?”

A pause during which Mute averts his eyes. “He’s going to do the same thing to you and it’s going to kill you. Do you even remember how you were when you joined Rainbow? You avoided everyone. You didn’t go for drinks with us, not even that. You fled from everyone who wanted to be friends with you, you were like a bloody spooked cat and when I think back to it I want to _strangle_ him. That wasn’t you, you _like_ people, even muppets like us. But you were so fucking scared of committing to anyone and anything that I half expected you to quit Rainbow any day the first few months.”

Sledge does remember the early days, albeit a little hazy. His memory retroactively corrected a few things, made it seem as if he’d presented himself with more confidence though he supposes out of everyone, Mute is the one who knows best seeing as he steadfastly refused to leave Sledge’s side, tried to form a team out of the four disjointed operators that they were. For someone who finds most people draining, he’s remarkably reliant on group harmony. No, Sledge doesn’t remember avoiding anyone or being afraid to commit but it’s plausible. He recalls feeling a little lost and lonely in the beginning, blamed the unfamiliarity with his other colleagues, cultural differences, language barriers that all diminished over time with how often they were forced to interact with each other. But maybe it wasn’t that. Or rather not _only_ that.

“How do you know he’s going to do the same thing again?”, he asks.

Mute looks at him, powerless, despairing, and shoots back: “How do you know he _isn’t_?”

To this, Sledge doesn’t have an answer. “Get up. You still have to do your work and if you have to stay late, so be it.”

“I don’t suppose I could ask you for help?”

“Nope. Absolutely no way. In fact, I added some of mine to yours so you don’t get bored.”

“You know, you’re a fantastic leader and a _terrible_ friend.”

“That’s probably why you think of me as a dad, hm?”

“Oh my _God_ , let’s never speak of that again. I misspoke and someone overheard and now I’m not hearing the end of it. I _don’t_ see you as my dad.”

“James is older than me anyway.”

“Yeah, but his mental age is that of a pubescent teenager. Also I apparently don’t even get any perks as your son, if anything, you treat me more harshly.”

“I have only your best interests at heart.”

Mute sighs, nods up at him and replies quietly: “Yeah. Me too, Seamus. Me too.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to [Aesos on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aesos/pseuds/Aesos) (or [here on tumblr](https://aesos-caliber.tumblr.com/)) for proofreading this chapter! ♥

It’s an odd mix of places: his secondary school, his first flat and Hereford all amalgamate together into a whirlwind of sceneries which leave behind an imprint on his mind, hazy on the actual architecture but crystal clear on the emotions they evoke, a quiet wistfulness, non-intrusive nostalgia, bittersweet memories of times that have come to pass. He’s late for something, that much he knows, he’s meant to be in several places at once and blames himself despite the impossibility of it, hurries along and is suddenly overpowered by a keen sense of loss, a profound grief which overshadows all other emotions, grips his heart and freezes his insides. Its origin is a mystery, just like its actual nature, accompanied by an insistent sound which is familiar and slowly drags him back to the surface of consciousness.

He felt everything so deeply that even after waking up and blinking at his ceiling, it’s hard to shake off the remnants of his dream. Through the veil obscuring his thoughts, it subconsciously registers that the noise is still ongoing, disturbing the silence of his bedroom in the early hours of the morning. The sun hasn’t risen yet but illuminates the sky already, paints it a dark grey – courtesy of the rain clouds currently pouring their contents over the English countryside. He doesn’t mind the rain on most days but wishes for different weather right now, a soft breeze and birdsong maybe, coaxing the sun out and chasing away the twilight.

It’s his phone. That’s what the low buzzing is, the device strategically placed on the other side of his expansive mattress instead of the bedside table to prevent it from making him fall out of his bed – the vibrations are amplified ridiculously by the thin wood, as he learnt very early on. A glance at the display reassures him it’s exactly who he thought it would be and he takes a deep breath before answering. “Yeah?”, he mumbles, still sleep-drunk. It can’t be later than four, maybe five in the morning.

“Hey”, comes Maestro’s smooth voice. He sounds worryingly awake which is never a good sign, he sleeps like a rock and is the opposite of a morning person most of the time. “You were sleeping, weren’t you?” He’s hesitant. He’s _never_ hesitant. His stomach drops.

“Did something happen?” The pause tells him everything he needs to know. Maestro sighs and it’s the sigh of someone who had a rude awakening himself, is looking for support now, an open ear, _anything_. It’s a rare occurrence and thus innately worrisome – he wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t serious. Sledge assumes he’d normally approach Alibi about whatever it is, so his curiosity is piqued as to why he was chosen instead. “I won’t be able to keep sleeping now anyway, so it’s fine. Tell me.” He swings his legs out of bed with a grunt, stretches and pads into the kitchen for some tea to help him stay awake. Lights aren’t necessary, he can see well enough though Diana was nothing more than a furry blob by the side of his bed, pretending to be asleep still so he can’t even get the idea of taking her for a walk now.

“I don’t think you’ve met Berenice, my youngest sister?”

Oh no. If it’s family, it can be anything, from drama to serious illness to actual death. Maestro doesn’t sound grieving, however – he sounds defeated. Sledge tries to match a face to the name but comes up empty – he met most of Maestro’s siblings and their respective families, his parents and some aunts, uncles and cousins out of which at least three were called Giovanni, but doesn’t remember a Berenice. “I don’t think so”, he says while filling the kettle with water, awkwardly balancing his phone between his ear and his shoulder.

“She’s been hospitalised last night.”

Not good. Maestro has spent his entire life looking out for his family and his siblings especially, it’d break his heart if anything serious happened to either of them. If Sledge remembers correctly, he always spoke fondly of his two youngest siblings, Ottavio and apparently Berenice. “Is she alright? What happened?” He adds a tea bag to his favourite mug and takes the milk out of his fridge.

“Oh, she’ll be sent home either this day or the next. She fell down the stairs, broke her nose and has a few nasty bruises. Not that big of a deal by itself.” Sledge remains mute, waits for the other shoe to drop. He’s not done, that much is clear, so he grants him time to gather his thoughts and starts pouring water into the cup as soon as the glowing button clicks to indicate the water’s boiling. “Only she’s made a habit of it. Third time she fell down the stairs. Has been in for running into a door twice. I don’t need to tell you that the bruises aren’t consistent with her stories.”

No. He doesn’t need to clarify this detail to Sledge, he gets the picture. Unfortunately so. He puts the kettle down, stirs in his milk and struggles to come up with an answer. Originally, he wanted to sit down in the living room, maybe read a little after what might’ve been a short phone call, but an overbearing exhaustion about the entire world befalls him and so he takes his cup with him to his bedroom, slips back under the covers, winces when the bruises on his back protest and realises he still hasn’t answered. “I’m sorry”, he replies lamely and it’s laughable how empty his words sound compared to how heavy the weight on his chest suddenly is.

“Mamma told me an hour ago. She’s done it only now because it’s the first she’s heard of it as well, so I don’t blame her. Berenice didn’t come to many reunions anymore, stayed away from all of us, always had an excuse or came alone, excusing the absence of her husband. I’ve seen him a handful of times only, once at their wedding, when their children were born, that sort of thing. He didn’t strike me as the type. He was forward, yes, but I didn’t -”

“Stop blaming yourself”, Sledge tells him softly because they both know that’s what Maestro’s doing. He’s undoubtedly scouring his memories for any indication onto which his brain should’ve latched, any signs he understands now, in hindsight. Memories are treacherous, Sledge believes firmly that Maestro is going to find what he’s seeking and fall into a spiral of unhealthy guilt. It’s probably the reason why Maestro called him – ultimately, it’s not Sledge’s business and he’d never intrude on family matters but what he _can_ do is prevent Maestro from letting his conscience slowly eat him up. Not that Maestro is actively aware of his own reasons for approaching Sledge, yet if all he wanted was compassion and not support, he could’ve contacted anyone.

“I should’ve known, I -”

“You weren’t there. You couldn’t have known. It’s not your fault.” Sledge is concerned for Berenice, even if he’s not met her: if the rest of the Martellos are anything to go by, she’s full of life, affectionate, warm and doesn’t deserve any kind of misery. But he can ask about her later.

“Don’t you understand? I _should’ve_ been there! I abandoned her when she needed me, this has been happening for years, don’t you get it? Years!”

“Adrianito. Listen to me. You chose this life for your family’s sake. You sent them every penny you could spare, financed your siblings’ education and allowed them to pursue their dreams, you bought your family a house and you continue to make their country safer. There is a limit to what you can do. You’re still human.” Diana is peeking over the edge of the bed now, concerned over his serious tone of voice and her ears laid back. He pats the blanket and she jumps up, presses herself against his side and stretches her little feet out. Her presence grounds him and helps in staying calm and rational, even when faced with Maestro’s anger which is beginning to flare up dangerously.

“That’s hardly an excuse. I can’t keep blaming my job for how much I neglect my family, do you have any idea how many birthdays I miss? How many important events in their lives I don’t get to witness? Raffaele has a grandchild and I don’t even know his son-in-law’s parents! What if they spoil his grandson rotten? I might as well be part of a completely different family with how rarely I see them.”

He’s not going to see reason about this, so Sledge deems it futile to stay on the topic for now. “What’s going to happen to Berenice? Does she have children?”

Maestro huffs irritatedly at the switch – once he’s buried his teeth in a topic, he lets go only unwillingly – but replies nonetheless. “Mamma is making her move in with her for a while, together with her daughter. She can’t support herself, she started studying architecture but never finished and now we know why, her husband probably didn’t like her being independent. But you know what hurts me the most? You know what makes me want to fly over right now and smash his fucking degenerate head onto the pavement until he stops moving?” He must be shaking with rage because he doesn’t sound like he’s exaggerating.

“What is it?”

“He laid hands on their daughter. I don’t know what he did but it made Berenice realise that she had to leave, so it can only have been bad. She’s not going to go back, I know what you’re thinking. She’s devastated but this isn’t about her anymore, not only. And this is the worst thing: I almost have to thank the piss stain for involving their daughter because otherwise she would’ve _stayed_. Isn’t that fucked up? I wish I – but I _can’t_ , Seamus, I feel so fucking helpless. I can’t _do_ anything, I can’t even save my own family, what am I -”

He breaks off and Sledge grants him the time to regain his composure. Listening to him struggle with himself, take deep shuddering breaths, choke back tears, is one of the hardest things Sledge has had to endure in a while; he wishes they were in the same room and he could just pull him close and never let go. Stroking over Diana’s flank, he waits and doesn’t lie and tell Maestro it’s okay, because it isn’t. “She’s going to be fine”, he says eventually when the breathing has evened out again, “your family will make sure she is. The worst part is over, she has left and she’s not going back. Does she want to pick up her studies again?”

“Yes”, Maestro replies, now sounding subdued and tired, “she doesn’t have the money but I do and if she refuses, I’ll just tell her to pay it back. She’ll forget. She’s scatterbrained, you know, always with her head in the clouds, not looking where she’s walking.”

“She’ll be alright, Adrianito. It’s better that she makes this decision herself than being forced to, you know that yourself. You’re doing your best.”

“Am I?” He scoffs. “Just a few days ago, I was considering renting an expensive flat because I liked the balcony. The fucking _balcony_. Who in the world cares about a balcony when their sister is struggling to find clothes that fit her? He wouldn’t let her have a _cent_.”

It’s not the first time it happens – as much as Maestro prides himself on quitting unhealthy habits, they keep festering deep inside and sometimes rear their ugly heads. Sledge knows he keeps his cigars somewhere, just like he knows that Maestro automatically converts everything he buys into groceries, into clothes, into all the things he could be buying for his next of kin. “Aria showed me the flat. It’s not expensive. And you know, in all that time I spent with your family, I met no one who didn’t sing your praises. They collectively adore you and it’s not just blind devotion because of everything you did for them. They see your flaws. Some confessed they thought you’d abandon them after seeing how limitless the rest of the world is – but you didn’t. I know what your calendar on your phone looks like, you try to call on every birthday you miss and that’s much more important than the material aspect: you set aside _time_. You’re in regular contact with your siblings. You’re a good older brother, Adrianito, a good son, a good uncle. Don’t try to shoulder all the blame yourself. It’s unfair.”

There’s a few tense seconds in which Sledge almost expects him to argue some more, but when Maestro heaves a sigh, he knows his words have reached him. It usually marks the end of a disagreement, symbolises the tension between them evaporating and it’s so familiar it _stings_. “Yes. You’re right – as usual. I should focus on supporting Berenice now instead of wondering how I could’ve helped her before.”

“Yeah. She’ll be fine. When are you flying over?”

There’s a sound like a light breeze on the other end and Sledge allows himself to smile as well. If he can make Maestro laugh, even just a tiny bit, he’s averted disaster, stopped the ever-shrinking spiral of guilt. “You know me too well, cuore mio. I can’t tell for sure yet, but the first chance I get. If necessary, only for a day, I haven’t seen her in so long and she was always one of my favourites. You’d like her.”

“I like all of your relatives, Adrianito.” Now that most of the pressure on his chest has dissipated, he sits back up and glances at his bedside table. “Oh, bollocks. I forgot my tea.”

Another laugh, this one more fond. “Nothing worse than cold tea or cold coffee. I’m sorry for waking you up this early just so you can talk some sense into me, tesoro, but it was all a bit much.”

Sledge checks the mug and finds the liquid inside still hot enough for his liking, fortunately. “It’s fine, I always have time to talk to you. Besides, I’ve got Diana to keep me company.” He takes a sip and looks out the window, the sky having brightened in the meantime yet the rain hasn’t let up. Thick droplets drum against the window pane, pressed against it by gusts of wind and what previously seemed foreboding and gloomy to him now is strangely relaxing. Out there, somewhere, a relatively young Italian woman is recuperating from bruises and other invisible wounds while a mother hen undoubtedly refuses to let her out of sight. She will heal – time heals most things albeit at different paces. Sledge knows this from first hand experience.

“I feared stagnation”, Maestro blurts out.

There is no context, so Sledge doesn’t understand right away. “What?”

“You know me. I’m fucking terrified of standing still. I need to improve or at least change, there has to be some sort of goal for me. You’ve seen it, you know what I mean. I’m restless. And you know what leads to standing still? Happiness.” He’s talking fast now, his accent thickening. “No, that’s not the right word. There is one, when you’re happy but _too_ happy so you don’t do anything.”

Sledge is still confused as to what he’s talking about; his speech is uncharacteristically quick as if he’s been carrying the words around with him for a while and can’t wait to finally drop them, instinctive rather than rehearsed or thought through. “Complacency?”

“Yes. Complacency. I thought I’d be less _me_ , I’d be dependent, limited in what I do and what I am. I thought you’d hold me back somehow.”

Now it hits him. He’s speechless at the sudden outburst, mug frozen halfway to his mouth, eyes staring into nothing. This is -

“Because whenever I looked at you, I wanted nothing more than just lie down somewhere with you and do nothing. You were – no, you _are_ everything I ever wanted and I thought if I had you, there’s nothing else I’d need, nothing else I’d need to work for. And I got scared. I got scared that at some point, I’d look at my life and ask myself: what happened? Because I’d be working a boring job somewhere and I’d be stuck because I wouldn’t want to leave your side ever again, so we moved somewhere and it’d be the same thing, every day. So I convinced myself I could only have one. I could live my life however I wanted or I could have you. I was stressed about it, and didn’t think straight, and I couldn’t talk about it with you because surely, you’d convince me to choose _you_ , you’d be biased, so I decided for myself. And it was the wrong decision.”

Sledge is still too stunned to reply and besides, it sounds as if Maestro needs to get it all off his chest before being ready to listen.

“It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. Believe me, right now, looking back, I want to slap myself for being this fucking dumb, but back then, I looked at you and wanted to cry because you were perfect but also the death of me. I dreaded moving in with you because I thought we’d just settle down and decide to never move again. You see, I look at my siblings and they all tell me ‘I couldn’t do what you do, switching jobs, changing countries, it’d be too much for me’. But I love it. And they all settled down so I thought that’s it. They’re complacent, that’s how this works. They’ve come this far and now they’re never going to change again, this is it, if I leave for five years and come back, it’ll all be the same for them, they won’t have changed. And imagining that for myself was unbearable.”

“Adrianito”, he says, not because he wants to interrupt but rather because he wants to move on, Maestro is repeating himself now.

“Yes. Have I told you I’ve never been heartbroken before? Never like that. So I thought I’d be fine. I don’t even know _why_ I thought that when I knew that you’re the best thing to ever happen to me, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t fine. It was like cutting out my own heart, Seamus. And I didn’t understand it. I thought: you wanted this, so be happy. I still had all the freedom I wanted, that I thought I needed and would lose, and then I realised. In the entire time we were together, you never held me back once. Whenever you asked me not to do something, there was a proper reason. You followed me around the globe without a single complaint, we somehow survived the few weeks where we couldn’t see each other at all, we kept in contact without distracting each other. You understand what my job entails and you never pushed me, never demanded anything, supported me in whatever I was doing. Why should that change?”

Sledge’s voice is thick when he asks: “When did you realise this?”

“A year ago, maybe two. Your number had changed. You weren’t in the SAS anymore, I didn’t know how to find you. I accepted that I would never see you again and when I heard about Rainbow, I couldn’t believe it. And I somehow assumed you’d understand. You’d take me back with open arms. I’m just – I’m terrible at this, vita mia. At all of it. But this much I can tell you: I understand my mistake. I should’ve talked to you, and I will. I’m ready to commit. After seeing you again, I’m absolutely certain I can’t live without you, I’ll only… exist. So please. _Please_. I’m begging you. Allow me back into your life. Give me a second chance. I won’t ruin it.”

The tea, once more forgotten, is turning cold next to the small lamp, a few books and a recording of Verdi’s _Rigoletto_. Sledge is making eye contact with Diana who seems worried, maybe senses his inner turmoil. Outside, the storm has lessened, now it’s a light drizzle again, a low noise in the background whereas a proper storm is roaring inside Sledge’s mind, making it impossible to think, to process, to decide. The early hour hinders his thoughts, slows him down. It’s a lot to take in at once but it’s genuine. Sledge can tell it’s heartfelt, desperate, hopeful. His words resonate with something inside him, kindle this idea, this _hope_ which apparently never left him, not even after three years.

And then suddenly, there’s peace. He can tell he’s made his decision so now he only needs to test it on its validity. Ultimately, it’s the fact that Maestro showed enough introspection, that he openly and in detail _finally_ admitted to what it really was that made him leave, fully aware of how irrational and unreasonable it must seem to Sledge. He knows acting without thinking irritates Sledge, knows he’ll be judged for his fallacy and yet he laid himself bare, no matter the consequences. The previous times he was ready for rejection, took it in stride, even expected it probably and hid his despair behind comedy or nonchalance. Now, he’d be devastated if Sledge turned him down – but he’d accept it. However Sledge responds, it’ll be set in stone this time.

Deep down, Sledge was aware of waiting for a sign, of _wanting_ Maestro to give him an excuse to start over again and this is it. No matter how illogical his reasoning back then, he’s realised his mistake and is earnestly trying to make amends.

He can practically hear Maestro’s anxiousness on his end, so he decides to take pity on him. “Adrianito. Would you like to go get dinner with me at your earliest convenience?”

“ _Yes_ ”, Maestro responds immediately, his relief audible, a whisper rising in volume at each repetition. “Yes. Yes, I would love to. Madonna, I’ve got time right now, let’s go.”

His enthusiasm is contagious and Sledge finds himself grinning as well, even tearing up a little. All of a sudden, he doesn’t know what to do with himself and he has to remind himself that jumping straight in where they left off is probably a bad idea. Three years are long, after all, they should really take the time to familiarise with each other first. “The only thing you’ll get at this hour is coffee, tea and chips. Not my idea of a successful dinner.”

“What, _chips_? Who eats chips for breakfast?”

“You can always get chips if you know where to go.”

“Really? You Brits are absolute philistines.” There’s a small pause, and then, helplessly: “Seamus, I’m fucking crying. Help.”

Sledge can’t help but laugh at how meek he sounds, and it’s full of earth-shattering relief and fondness. “I don’t think I’d be of much help, I’m not any better.”

“Are you really?”

“A little.” He wipes at his eyes and takes a deep breath. “But let’s take it slow, alright? There’s no rush. I don’t -”

“Yes, I know. It’s fine. If you want, we can blow our entire budget on simply going out to eat literally every night without me ever getting to break my jaw while trying to suck your cock, as long as you stop looking at me like I sat on Diana.”

Another laugh, this one as amused as disbelieving. “What? Do I do that?”

“You do that thing where you look like McGonagall from Harry Potter. You shouldn’t be able to do it, you’re entirely too young. Madonna, I can’t see anything, I’m still crying. I’m so happy, luce dei miei occhi, I can’t even put it in words. I missed you so much. I missed you every day.”

“I missed you too.” It’s wonderful, finally being able to say these words without any sort of trepidation, of not worrying about second thoughts or the right thing to do. He’s decided and now he’s going to stick with his decision.

“Yeah? I don’t remember you ever missing anything or anyone, not your family, not your country, none of your friends. You said that even in past relationships you barely missed anyone.”

He’s not wrong – Sledge is anything but sentimental, which is one of the reasons people are usually surprised to learn how well he gets on with Maestro. “I would miss Rainbow. All of them together and especially Mark and James. But yes, I missed you. After you left, I ate too much for a year.”

“And I didn’t cook for a year.”

Sledge’s eyebrows climb. “I don’t believe you. I know you’re partial to exaggerations, but that’s just excessive.”

“Maybe half a year, then. But I couldn’t stomach it, at first I’d find excuses and kept throwing away vegetables I didn’t end up using, then I realised I hadn’t made anything from scratch in a month and that’s when I understood why. I did it once and it was way too much, meant for two people, not one, too salty and _ruined_. I threw it out and cried myself to sleep. It was no fun anymore.”

It’s hard to imagine but not impossible. Picturing Maestro in his well-stocked kitchen, lost and without any appetite, is heartbreaking. “You brought it on yourself.”

“I did, I cannot deny it but believe me when I tell you this knowledge did _not_ make me feel any better. It’s as if I’d killed a loved one and then drowned in grief. I babysat for an acquaintance of Giuliana’s – you remember my oldest sister? – in Spain and watched the five hundredth episode of a soap opera which I only barely understood, but I was bawling my eyes out the entire time to a point where the squirts asked me if _I_ wanted to lie down instead. I was a mess, cuore mio.”

“You know, not too long ago, a nice SAS bloke asked me out.”

“Relatable. I don’t understand why the entirety of the SAS hasn’t asked you out yet.”

Sledge smiles despite the topic, flattered though he knows he hardly qualifies as approachable with romantic intent. Smoke once told him he seems extremely ‘fuckable’ to people who don’t know him but more like an older brother to people who do. Except for Mute apparently, who goes straight for _dad_. “I liked him. He was interesting and not as jaded as most others. Intelligent with a quick wit, too.”

“Sounds too good to be true. Where’s the catch?”

“There is no catch.” Sledge lets the statement sink in for a moment. “He was just an all-around nice bloke, we got along swimmingly. He was patient as well. Too patient. It took me too long to realise I wasn’t going to start anything serious with him and by then he was invested already, so I must’ve hurt him.”

“Yeah, I get it”, Maestro cuts in but Sledge is undeterred, finishes regardless.

“I expected him to disappear any second. I couldn’t commit, I was too scared. Every time he messaged me, every time he called or looked troubled, I feared the worst. That’s no basis for conducting a healthy relationship.”

“Yes. I’ll talk to you, amore. You’re going to wish I’d stop.”

“Not going to happen. I like hearing you talk. In fact, you can -” He breaks off with a muttered _goddammit_ which prompts an inquisitive noise from Maestro just as he’s touching the ceramic long forgotten on the bedside table. “My bloody _tea_.”

And as Maestro softly laughs in response to his cursing, Sledge thinks: _It’ll be alright. We’ll be fine_.

 

They meet in Sledge’s office before work, completely in private still, away from any outside influences and it feels like it’s _theirs_. An odd sort of anxiousness plagues Sledge up to the point where Maestro finally arrives and he belatedly identifies the feeling as butterflies as soon as he lays eyes on him – because it increases manifold. It’s a fluttering sensation mixed with a deep affection which apparently never went away fully during the years they spent apart. Having only hung up their call about an hour ago since they kept finding new topics to discuss, Sledge hasn’t had the time to properly reflect on what happened this morning but his gut feeling is unambiguous and replaces his thinking effortlessly.

When Maestro moves to greet him as usual, Sledge simply takes his face in his hands, stops the sideways motion and kisses him. It’s brief and more of a gesture than its own thing but Maestro’s beard tickles him and his lips are soft and he almost relents, almost prolongs it past the two, three blissful seconds during which he finally has the maelstrom who stirred up his life and emotions so thoroughly in his hands. He’s caught him, can hold him down for once and is loath to let go again. But anything more would feel unfitting somehow, too much too quick and inappropriate seeing as Maestro has other worries on his mind. And so Sledge only kisses him briefly before encasing him in a bear hug which is gladly reciprocated with a deep breath on both sides.

It’s like coming home. Only in this case, home is wherever Maestro is – he has the impressive talent to claim whatever place he comes across and so wherever he chooses to settle down for the moment is where Sledge can feel safe. Holding him close, knowing _this is for me_ , it’s overwhelming – there’s no more running away now, the doubts have been extinguished, he can stop looking back now. No uncertainties, no what-ifs, no insecurities anymore. Maestro knows he takes relationships seriously, they’ve discussed it at length in the beginning, so he knows exactly what he’s getting himself into, Sledge won’t have to establish completely new boundaries or negotiate fundamental rules. No, instead he can focus fully on refreshing their knowledge of each other, on enjoying Maestro’s company. It’s an exceedingly pleasant feeling.

They stay like this for an eternity, Maestro’s facial hair rubbing over the side of Sledge’s neck, his hand stroking over the Italian’s head, both of them calmly basking in the serenity of the moment. This is their proper reunion befitting what they used to be for each other and will be again, starting now. Whatever they do from this point onwards, they’ll have each other’s backs. It’s odd – Sledge prides himself on having made reliable friends, on the fact that they’d drop everything for him just like he would for them, and yet it’s different with Maestro, possesses a different quality. He won’t hesitate to ask him while he’d think twice about bothering Mute.

“How are you doing?”, he wants to know when he notices Maestro becoming a little restless in their embrace and leans back without letting go, allowing for eye contact while they’re still touching.

“My heart sings and my soul weeps, amore, it’s an odd conflict. Regardless, just seeing you heals me. If you were the sun, I’d stare at you until I go blind, if you were the ocean, I’d want to drown in you, have you fill my lungs until I can feel nothing but you.” Maestro is fully back in their honeymoon phase, a sentiment which kept popping up now and then – even after a year, there’d be days where pure honey drips from his lips, where he’s beaming and touching Sledge at all times. It won’t last long, soon he’ll be overcome by guilt because how can he be this happy when his sister has suffered so much? There’s nothing Sledge can do about it, however, doesn’t want to ruin the moment either and so he just smiles, rubs their noses together and kisses his cheek. When they break apart again, they’re still holding hands shyly as if they were awkward teenagers. It’s so chaste and lovely, so uncharacteristically quiet and yet bittersweet: there are wounds on both sides still, Maestro’s self-inflicted and never quite healed, Sledge’s opened up again the fateful day Six presented him with this shadow from his past. But they’re recuperating. They’ll heal each other. It’ll work out.

“Don’t tell anyone yet, please. I need to talk to Mark personally first so he doesn’t flip his shit.” It’s unlikely that a one on one conversation is going to prevent this but at least he won’t cause a public scene. Oddly enough, breaking the news to Mute might be the hardest part about their reunion.

“Tell anyone _what_ , caro mio?”, Maestro asks cheekily, obviously wanting nothing more than to hear the words from Sledge’s mouth as an odd reassurance he shouldn’t need yet apparently does.

Sledge’s lips curve into another smile and he lets go of one of Maestro’s hands to stroke his beard into which Maestro immediately tilts his head. Despite being quite touchy-feely, he seems starved for any and all of Sledge’s touches and he belatedly understands what Maestro meant earlier: he, too, wishes they could just find a couch or a bed and do nothing for the rest of the day but exchange overdue caresses and lay their emotions bare. “I don’t do probation periods, you know that, don’t be deliberately obtuse.”

“Never before have I heard a more charming reply to the question ‘what are we’. You’re surpassing yourself today, Seamus. No probation period. Clearly, romance is alive and breathing.” Despite the dry comment, neither of them have stopped beaming idiotically and Sledge even chuckles at the response. “But don’t worry, amore, my lips are sealed. Unless you still don’t trust me and would like to seal them a more effective way.”

It’s deceptively easy to get caught up in him again, especially when he starts swooning simply because Sledge kisses him briefly once more. The few seconds are enough to reduce Maestro to a puppy in his arms, humming and snuggling up to him – and it’s so tempting to just keep going, allow him to take over and shower Sledge with everything he’s holding back. So tempting.

Maestro not deciding to press the issue when Sledge takes a step back is an improvement, three years ago he would’ve kept pushing regardless and tried to bend Sledge to his will with sweet words and affectionate gestures, but now he’s respecting his boundaries. It’s a relief and very promising, strengthens Sledge’s belief that he won’t throw away his second chance that easily. “Do you have time to go out today, bellissimo?”

He checks his mental schedule and has to shake his head sadly. “Not today, Mike needs me, so I’ll stay late.” Maestro just nods which is just as unusual, normally he’d have argued but in this case, Sledge suspects it’s not only the wish to appease him but also something else. He’s noticed how Maestro tones down his eccentricities around Thatcher, carefully ropes him into every conversation and tries to get him to reminisce so he can marvel at him. “You like him, don’t you?”

“Ah, I – he’s everything I strive to be”, comes the sheepish reply, “if I’m half as competent as he is at his age, I’ll call myself fortunate. He devoted his entire life to what he believes in.” Sledge doesn’t point out that it’s only been a few hours at most since Maestro doubted his entire career path to the point of severe guilt. Mood swings and apparent changes of opinion happen a lot and Sledge has learnt to read between the lines very quickly, so he knows what Maestro means – he’d like to have achieved as much as Thatcher yet without having to sacrifice his life as a family man. “Do you want to give me your key again? I can walk Diana for you later.”

A short pause during which he considers it, then he nods. “Alright. Are you going to cook something too?”

“Do I get another kiss if I do?”

“I’m not going to bribe you with kisses. When I kiss you, it’s because I want to and not to get you to do something.”

“You’re such a hopeless romantic”, Maestro sighs defeatedly and prompts a grin from Sledge.

“How are your injuries doing?” They joke around some more, Maestro showing off the bandage on his side again and Sledge once more giving in to the temptation of touching his warm skin, only this time the overpowering desire to snog him until they can’t breathe has lessened, appeased by the kisses earlier. Maestro’s wrist will take about a week to heal still and remains an inconvenience about which he all too readily complains in great detail, making Sledge snicker and eventually interrupt him before he loses himself even more in his dramatic renditions. Eventually, the nostalgic and sentimental mood between them has given way to a light-hearted one and they part with a warm smile on their faces, more than ready to face the day ahead of them.

 

~*~

 

Sledge has almost forgotten what it’s like to be in love.

The feeling has accompanied him for a while. Like a favourite song stuck in his head or a persistent warmth that somehow manages to stay, it’s always just _there_ , at the back of his mind, a low fluttering in his stomach from recently awoken butterflies. Sitting here now, on his comfortable armchair, a conversation he can hardly follow under his thumb, Diana a calming weight on his foot, with more than an hour to go until he’s leaving for their first proper date after clearing everything up, there’s a taste of cigars and wine on his tongue, and Sledge thinks: _this is what I’ve been waiting for_. Can’t even explain how he knew it was going to happen, just somehow believes he’s known it’d come to this ever since Maestro returned.

He turns the display on his phone off, leans back and allows himself to daydream a little – he still has plenty of time to dress and shower and so his thoughts wander to the one person who’s occupied his mind both the day before as well as most of today, the person from whom he originally tried to keep his distance yet failed repeatedly, the person who caused him so much grief and happiness alike. No matter what he does, Maestro looms in the corner of his eye though as opposed to the previous weeks, now his presence is more than welcome and reason for Sledge’s stupid smile he can’t get rid of, regardless of how hard he tries. Several people have commented on his cheerful mood and mirrored his smile but for now, no one seems to suspect anything – not even Mute.

It’s a constant force dragging the corners of his mouth upwards, makes his heart flutter randomly and fills him with determination to quickly tend to his daily duties so he’s got time to sneak off somewhere with Maestro to talk some more, exchange a handful of kisses and a loving embrace. He’s absolutely _smitten_ , which is probably part of the reason why he hasn’t talked to Mute yet: he wants to preserve this pure, pristine elation for as long as possible.

Now that he’s openly fixated on Maestro instead of focusing on trying to avoid him, he notices all the eccentricities Mute mentioned, all the tics of which he must’ve been aware when they only just knew each other and which have since become yet another part of Maestro’s persona. He notices them all, is acutely aware of how he moves, what he says, to where his eyes dart, the way he presents himself and all that which he doesn’t emulate consciously. Maestro is much more vibrant now, bursting with life, vivid even in Sledge’s imagination and while it’s a natural effect of their feelings for each other, it’s also extremely distracting because, among other things, Sledge can’t lie to himself about how worryingly attracted he is to him.

Sledge is perfectly able to recognise when someone is handsome, might even feel a certain pull towards them yet would never agree to anything like a one night stand – in cases like these, the low want sparked by purely superficial qualities is aimless rather than directed at the person who caused it and therefore doesn’t invite decisions based on lust. On the other hand, if an emotional connection exists _and_ Sledge is attracted, it can create a deep desire begging to be satisfied, its intensity sometimes even surprising Sledge himself and it’s exactly what’s happening at the moment. Not constantly, or else he wouldn’t be able to get any work done whatsoever, but there are times – like when Maestro rolls up his sleeves to expose his tanned, strong arms covered in dark hairs – where Sledge begins to sweat.

He has enough time still. Besides, it might help him keep his cool later should Maestro try to push it. And now that he’s thinking about it, the idea is getting more and more alluring, like a siren’s call, and before he knows it, he’s already gotten up, told a confused Diana to stay and walked to his bedroom. After closing the door and discarding the lower half of his clothes, he lies down on the bed, makes himself comfortable and allows his thoughts to wander. Imagining Maestro naked requires no effort, he’s familiarised himself with his powerful body on countless occasions, so he brings up the endless expanse of skin, muscle and hair before his inner eye, marvels at its form and begins touching himself while doing so. He likes to take his time, therefore he starts slow by massaging his balls a little, brushing over the shaft with his thumb and feels it harden.

His mental library is large and most of it dusty, his favourites well tended to and the ones who conjure up negative associations safely hidden away but now he allows himself to indulge in some of them. One time, they’d drunk too much rum and spent most of the evening licking the taste off each other’s tongues, stumbled to the beach in the dark, Maestro giggling like a teenager and Sledge focusing on keeping them upright. The air was so stuffy still that they weren’t cold, not even when the incoming tide washed over their calves, reached up to their thighs while they jerked each other off, Maestro’s voice sweet and burning simultaneously, whispering filth and love into his ear while Sledge’s teeth possessively marked his shoulder and he’s fully hard now.

This part he missed as well, the pure _energy_ Maestro spent in bed, the way a single scorching gaze conveyed how much he wanted Sledge in that moment, no matter where they were, how his passion sucked Sledge in and released him only after neither of them knew their own names anymore. Like with most memories of Maestro, the ones from their love life are infinitely more vivid and meaningful than any others and Sledge gladly sinks into them. There was the evening after a disaster almost happened and Sledge had to reprimand a few others who really should’ve known better – in his anger, he missed Maestro’s eyes darkening and certainly wasn’t ready for him to just drag him off afterwards though the unexpectedness of it didn’t make it any less hot, quite the opposite.

His hand is languidly travelling over his thick erection now, still mainly teasing but starting to get serious, giving in to the demands his lower half is placing, speeding up his strokes slightly.

One memory has never failed him. Due to Maestro’s impatient and enthusiastic nature, he usually not only initiates their lovemaking but also dominates it, so they’ve agreed on a simple gesture, just like the one Sledge uses whenever Maestro is rambling inappropriately or a tad too much – but instead of a light touch to his lower back, it’s to his throat. They had to work up to it as Maestro normally flinches away from anything brushing over this vulnerable part of his body but with time, Sledge’s hand induced the opposite reaction: he calms down, becomes docile, malleable, allows Sledge to do whatever he wants to him. At first, he used it to prolong their sessions, stop Maestro right on the verge of orgasm and watch him squirm on top of him, yet after a while, he tried out something else and the result will be forever ingrained in his memory.

He held him down. From the moment of entering him to the moment where they came simultaneously, it was either Sledge’s hand at Maestro’s throat or his mouth, sucking deep purple bruises into his skin, grazing it with his teeth or stroking over his pulse with his tongue. Maestro started begging halfway through, the slow rhythm driving him insane and still, he did not violate their loose agreement, didn’t rebel against the calming hand and accepted his fate. It was the most desperate Sledge has ever heard him, imploring and pleading incessantly while he easily could’ve flipped them over and taken what he wanted, yet refrained out of respect. Sledge fucked him deep and gently, dragged both of them a tiny, tiny bit closer to the edge with every slow thrust and savoured Maestro’s clenched teeth, the way he rocked into him, his hands holding on to him as if he was the only thing keeping him from losing his mind. Maestro is a force of nature and Sledge is able to hold him back with no more than a fingertip on heated skin, it was intense and _God_ , his crotch throbs viciously at every new detail he remembers, the shallow breathing, the intimate kisses, and he’s going to -

There’s a key being turned in his apartment door. Diana starts barking excitedly which manages to largely kill his mood even when he recognises the voice greeting her as Maestro’s. For a few seconds, he entertains the notion of inviting him in, letting him swallow Sledge’s member whole (or attempt to, at least), of cancelling their date in favour of rolling around on the bed for the rest of evening and this is exactly what he was hoping to avoid by taking care of himself early. He lazily massages the swollen head as Maestro clatters around in his kitchen and considers finishing anyway – it might take a few minutes but he trusts Maestro not to come barging into his bedroom during that time. Yet when he starts singing quietly, he discards the thought. It’s too distracting and the likelihood of him invading Sledge’s privacy isn’t zero, so he’d better get up and find out why he’s this early whereas he’s usually on time or a little late.

Sledge gives his rock hard dick a last regretful glance before he rises, pulls on a pair of fresh underwear and jeans, arranges his boner so it’s the least conspicuous and pads to the kitchen.

And oh, does he curse himself for not taking a few minutes to cool off first. It doesn’t even matter that Maestro seems to be rearranging the contents of Sledge’s cupboards to accommodate the impressive collection of spices he seems to be donating, Sledge has no chance to get annoyed by this because Maestro is bowing down and not only looks like the most desirable thing on the entire planet but also smells like it, must’ve switched back to his old aftershave because Sledge’s mouth is watering and his vision blurring with how much he suddenly _wants_. There are strings tugging at his entire being, pulling him towards this man and it’s a scrap of comfort that Maestro is busy and not looking at him because then it’d probably only take ten seconds until his hands are in Sledge’s pants.

“I’ll be right with you, luce dei miei occhi, and I’m absolutely heartbroken, but plans have changed. I’m flying in a few hours already.”

His mind is struggling to process this information but once it managed, it helps, the topic is something he can concentrate on instead of his thrumming lust. “That’s good”, he says and means it. The earlier Maestro can visit his family, the earlier he’ll find the peace he deserves again. “We can postpone the date. Focus on your family for now, Adrianito, I can wait. Have you packed already?”

“Not yet, I wanted to see you first.” Maestro finally abandons his spices to turn to him with a half smile – his mood is wistful and makes Sledge feel vague guilt for his own thoughts. They kiss as a greeting and when Maestro hugs him, he stiffens slightly in his arms and oh boy, here it comes. “Oh”, he says, tone of voice slowly changing, “ _oh_. Are you this happy to see me, caramellino?” Sledge refuses to warrant the comment with an answer and merely rolls his eyes when Maestro deliberately presses himself against his unwavering erection. “I have to leave again in twenty minutes but it’s _plenty_ of time -”

“You agreed to take it slow, don’t go back on your promises now”, Sledge murmurs and tries to ignore the shiver running down his spine when Maestro’s lips latch onto the side of his neck, causing a wonderful tingling which makes his shaft jump – something that Maestro indubitably feels against his own.

“Madonna, you’re so erotic.” The mood has shifted completely, Maestro unsurprisingly abandoning his previous train of thought readily.

“Adrianito.”

He takes a deep, shaky breath and while his uninjured hand glides down to grope Sledge’s ass, he makes no move to go any further than that. “Yes, cuore mio. You’re right, you want to wait a bit. I have the willpower of an ox and I would refuse even if you invited me to your bed right now.”

Sledge grins at this claim. “It’s true that you’re as stubborn as an ox, but if I invited you to my bed, you’d accept before I could even finish the sentence.”

“You’re right, I’d be naked before I even step through the kitchen door.”

Too much. The familiar banter, daily innuendos and that bloody _hand_ on his arse, the sweet nicknames, open adoration and the memories in which he so foolishly indulged earlier, it culminates in Sledge suddenly locking lips with Maestro and it’s some kind of signal because the next thing he knows is an insistent tongue pushing into his mouth. They’re clinging to each other now, deepening the kiss yet allowing it to turn sloppy simultaneously, moaning into each other’s mouths in relief, Maestro fisting Sledge’s shirt, Sledge nibbling at his lower lip, both of them swaying unsteadily; Sledge crashes into a nearby cupboard, Maestro collides with the door frame, together they’re on their way to the bedroom maybe or the living room while being unable to separate, they’re caught in a vortex of repressed, pent-up emotions and desires and Sledge can only vaguely remember ever feeling this _alive_.

A yelp breaks them out of their lust-driven whirlwind and Maestro loses his footing, probably almost stepped on Diana, drags Sledge down with him and they land in a heap, Maestro miraculously not injuring his wrist any further and it’s Sledge this time who ends up straddling the other man. Instinctively, he calls the upset corgi lady over, soothes her with soft words and by petting her lovingly though he doesn’t miss the insistent hands unbuttoning his trousers. Once he’s sure Diana has forgiven them with the way her ears are pointed up at the sky again, his attention shifts back to the Italian between his legs, a playful smile on Maestro’s face and a hint of victory. “I’ve been waiting for so long, tesoro”, he whispers and it’s a sentiment to which Sledge can relate.

Deft fingers are pulling down the zip now and it won’t be long until Maestro will wrestle him, try to gain the upper hand once more and tease Sledge a little but the interruption cleared his head, reminded him of the fact that he didn’t want to dive into this head first. Instead of struggling, however, he simply reaches out and touches his fingertips to Maestro’s Adam’s apple. The reaction is instant: he inhales sharply, his hands still, fingers hooked into the waistband of Sledge’s underwear, and his cock twitches so forcefully Sledge feels it through several layers of clothing. Maestro probably thinks all he wants to do is take control fully because his eyes are fluttering shut, he’s tilting his head back, baring his throat and silently waiting whereas Sledge…

He examines the man under him and wonders why he stopped him. His own dick is half hard again, his entire body ready for a few minutes of ecstasy, and yet something is holding him back.

“Why do you still feel the need to punish me?”, Maestro asks quietly once he’s understood the nature of the interruption – not cheekiness but genuine discomfort – and it’s unclear whether he means it as a joke or not. Sledge doesn’t know the answer. He thought he’d forgiven Maestro already. “Amore, I love you. I always have, I love no one more than you.”

Sledge knows this. Hearing it only calms a part of the confusion inside him, though since he finds it impossible to put into words, all he does is lean down and kiss Maestro again, thoroughly and until neither of them can breathe. He wants Maestro to know he loves him too, so fiercely he can’t put it into words yet when the kiss ends, there’s no smile on either of their faces.

Maestro caresses his cheek, his ear, the side of his neck and holds his gaze while neither of them says anything. “I have to go, vita mia. There’s some food in the fridge. I’m staying for almost a week, Six was generous enough to approve it. I’ll call.”

He nods, kisses Maestro’s palm and wordlessly allows him to get up. “Say hi to everyone from me.”

It takes less than a minute. Sledge doesn’t even bother taking his clothes off this time, just flops down on the bed, pulls his dick out and remembers how they almost let loose, imagines what would’ve happened if he’d allowed Maestro to continue, them rolling around on the floor, Maestro’s left hand bringing him off a little awkwardly, maybe with the help of his mouth, and that’s when his orgasm rips through him like a freight train, intense and sudden and leaves him shuddering.

Regardless, he somehow doesn’t feel any better afterwards.

 

“You’re fucking kidding me. Are you about to tell me what I think you are?”

He hasn’t even started and Mute is ready for a fight. Sledge doesn’t want to tread on eggshells around him and yet a small part in him urges him to play it down, start out with a few white lies maybe, work towards it. It would go against his nature, he’s open, honest and doesn’t mince his words, all of them qualities he cherishes in himself and seeks out in others – he prefers being criticised directly as opposed to sugar coating it. To buy himself some time, he looks around in the canteen which is populated normally for their lunch break, the operators crowding together in small or larger groups and usually, they’re part of one of them. He dragged Mute aside though, wanting to finally get it over with.

With a sigh, he looks down at the couscous salad Maestro left him the evening before – the pumpkin seed oil parfait together with the fresh raspberries is gone already, devoured in one sitting. It’s one of his favourites and Maestro is aware of this, prepared it just for him and he’s… he’s trying so hard. He did nothing wrong, or rather: nothing else since Sledge chose to forgive him. It’s possible that his reluctance to accept Maestro back into his life stems from several years of heartache; even though he decided to take him back, surely there would be residues, right? And at first, the relief of their reunion blotted out the underlying suspicions which remain to this moment. Maybe Maestro being gone for a few days helps, grants him time to process this change.

“It is, isn’t it”, Mute continues to prod and probably only stops his reproachful interrogation because Smoke joins them with several slices of pizza on his plate. “Are you serious, James? This is the _worst_ time to be eating -”

“Neither my fault nor my problem if Italian shit gives you an aneurysm, babe”, Smoke shoots back, unimpressed but giving his boyfriend a peck on the cheek nonetheless. “I fucking love pizza and this is neutral ground.”

“This abomination has extremely little to do with actual Italian cuisine anyway.” Sledge eyes the greasy, sinful dish which is covered in cheese sceptically. “It’s like comparing a chihuahua to a wolf.”

“Don’t you dare switch topics now”, Mute complains and narrows his eyes at him. “You said you had something to tell me. Spill it.”

“We talked. Adriano explained himself. So we’re back together now.”

The young man looks ready to throw his sandwich on the ground in disgust whereas Smoke’s face lights up at the announcement. “Hey, that’s brilliant. Congrats, mate!”

“What could he _possibly_ have said -”

“Everyone who’s not completely blind or ignorant could see how bloody doomed he was. Never fucking shut up about you.”

“Did he crank up his emotional manipulation again? Is that what happened? Or did he blackmail -”

“Babe.” Smoke leans in once again to steal a kiss which is reluctantly delivered before Mute continues his tirade, so Smoke repeats the motion, peppers him with kisses quite clearly to get him to stop talking. He’s risking serious bodily harm, if Mute’s increasingly murderous expression is anything to go by. “Babe. Cool it. _Babe_. Don’t judge, hm? Basically everyone told you you were fucking mental for going after me.”

“Maybe I should’ve listened to them”, Mute grumbles and prompts a disbelieving laugh as well as a jab in the ribs from Smoke. “James, I love you, but this really isn’t your topic to discuss.”

“Why? Because I’m not someone to try and talk literally the most sensible bloke I know out of something about which I don’t even have all the relevant information?” Sledge wonders how often Maestro came up between them – it certainly sounds like both of them are vaguely tired of the topic.

“No, look, _Seamus_ doesn’t either, so I have a reason to be upset!”

Oh? This is when he decides to interrupt the spat. “Yeah? What is that, then?”

Mute’s stormy eyes direct their gaze back to him and the short moment of hesitation doesn’t bode well. “Dom was in the base early last morning and no, you probably don’t want to know why, it’s not worth the headache, trust me. But he saw Maestro coming out of Alibi’s room, looking like he slept there or something. According to him, he wasn’t wearing much.”

Sledge waits a few seconds and lifts a brow when there are no further additions. “That’s it?”

“The fuck you mean _that’s it_?”

“He doesn’t cheat.”

“Well, how do you know?”

“I don’t. But I trust him.”

“Why? His entire behaviour so far doesn’t really inspire -”

“Mark. I know him better than you do. I’ve known him for longer, too, and while I’m painfully aware of him dropping everything for her, he’d never do what you’re implying.”

“Drop it, babe”, Smoke butts in as well, surprisingly gentle. He seems to be massaging Mute’s thigh under the table, attempting to calm him down but failing for the most part as Mute seems to interpret Sledge’s calm rebuttal as a provocation.

“No. No _way_. I remember how fucking bitter you were that one evening in the fancy French restaurant. Those weren’t the words of someone who’s confident about any of this. I _remember_ what you said, you bloody moron, you said she’d forever be your rival and the _only_ reason, literally the _only_ fucking reason he’s choosing you over her is because she doesn’t want him!”

He did say that, didn’t he? It pains him to realise that he should’ve watched his words more carefully, that he shouldn’t have opened up to one of his best friends about his innermost fears because they’d eventually be used as ammunition against him. The necessary conclusion stings even more – he might have to avoid mentioning Maestro completely, won’t even be allowed to talk about how happy he makes him (how happy he’ll eventually make him). “I was disappointed”, he starts to defend himself, “and not in a good mindset. I painted a bleaker picture than what was accurate.”

“What if she changes her mind?”, Mute wants to know quietly and shakes off Smoke’s hand on his upper arm. “What if she _fucking_ changes her mind, huh, Seamus? What then? What if she already has?”

It feels like a punch in the stomach and Sledge isn’t entirely sure why. He’s not worried about the two, never has been. Alibi knows better, they’d make an awful couple, they don’t fit together at all. They’re basically opposites. They’d complement each other. They – they’re not -

“You should talk to her”, Smoke tells him softly. “If it’s nothing, she’ll mock you in this standoffish but weirdly sexy kind of way, and if it is, then you know at least.”

“There’s no reason to talk to her because there’s nothing to talk about!”, Sledge snaps and earns stunned silence. It’s been a while since he raised his voice at someone undeservedly and it knocks him off balance. “I need to go to the bathroom. And when I come back, we’re talking about something else.” He gets up, leaves the noisy room behind him and tries not to walk too fast. He needs to compose himself. It’s odd for him to allow something as trivial as this to get under his skin.

In his pocket, his phone vibrates and he checks it to see it’s a text message from Maestro. He reads it, then slides the device back to where it was before.

He’ll answer it later.

Maybe.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks a whole bunch to [Aesos on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aesos/pseuds/Aesos) (or [on tumblr](https://aesos-caliber.tumblr.com/)) for proofreading :) ❤

His odd mood dissipates somewhere along the way, amid the heartwarming photos Maestro sends him of beaming family members, the late night calls about everything and nothing and the fact that he _misses_ him. After the brief period of unbridled happiness, suddenly being denied all physical proximity makes Sledge regret not giving in to Maestro earlier – his bed seems vast and empty, his flat bleak despite nothing having changed and his daily tasks an absolute chore. It doesn’t help that Mute is visibly holding back on the things he wants to say though to his credit, he doesn’t raise the topic by himself anymore and forces himself not to put any misguided blame on Sledge for which they probably have to thank Smoke.

Sledge didn’t think it’d ever happen, but Smoke is behaving like the adult in their relationship for the moment.

Unfortunately, work requires a lot of his attention after an issue concerning a few SAS operators who vanished in the Middle East is brought to him by Thatcher who’s been asked to assist in locating them. None of the people involved would like to think defection is an option, so they keep their hopes up for the two days they spend glued to screens and phones and more screens. Sledge has never lost his love for the way the Special Air Service conducts missions, its anti-authoritarian style appealing to his conviction that whoever is most qualified at the current task should lead and not the most decorated person. It makes collaborating with the people who so generously allow them to share their base in Hereford a breath of fresh air even if the occasion is potentially disastrous.

Eventually, the men are found, most of them safe and uninjured and Sledge is sure that when they return, they’ve got stories to tell and free rounds of pints to enjoy. The relief lightens his mood further, so when Maestro calls that evening to announce his wish to try and _finally_ go on a successful date with him as soon as he’s back, Sledge agrees enthusiastically, surprising him with how upbeat he sounds. It’s true they didn’t get off to a great start, the very first date ending in disappointment when Maestro had to leave, the second not happening at all – but third time’s the charm, right? Sledge suggests going for sushi which Maestro shoots down immediately, accusing him of only wanting to go to the place he mentioned because they serve deep fried sushi (and alright, he got Sledge there), and while they bicker, Sledge strokes over Diana’s back until she’s asleep and smiles the entire time.

 

Somehow, Maestro managed to become even more handsome over the course of a week. His tan has deepened and though his clothes are a little rumpled from the flight, they make him seem more approachable – besides, the burgundy shirt suits him alarmingly well. As usual, he’s impeccably groomed and smells divine, there’s a hint of lavender which triggers Sledge’s nostalgia even more than all the photos he’s received over the past days. He got to talk to Maestro’s mother on the phone and what probably should’ve been a little awkward ended up nothing but lovely: she inquired about his well-being, ranted on about her irresponsible children and wished him all the best in a sheer waterfall of speech during which she didn’t seem to require air.

Whenever Sledge interacts with Maestro’s family, he’s left slightly befuddled but filled with an odd warmth. He’s used to his own family which is much more reserved when it comes to strangers – polite yet not outright friendly. It’s got nothing to do with actual suspicion but rather hesitation; any acquaintance, friend or even girl- or boyfriend is scrutinised over how suitable they are to interact with the Cowden sons, whether they’re ‘good for them’ or not. He has no doubts Maestro would stick out like a sore thumb amidst his family, a beacon of compassion and pure energy as opposed to gentle indifference. No wonder Sledge always marvels at how close the entire Martello clan is, how much they share with each other and how easily they’ve accepted him into the family.

Therefore, it shouldn’t be a surprise when Maestro announces that pretty much everyone insisted on him passing gifts for Sledge along and yet the gesture is both astonishing as well as moving.

“Half of my suitcase is just presents for you, amore”, he continues between short kisses, completely disregarding the bustling activity around them, families or lovers being reunited just as they are, friends hugging, people beaming at each other. They hardly stand out, just two people exchanging affection at the airport, and somehow the normalcy of it all soothes Sledge further. Their relationship hasn’t become a part of his everyday life yet, not with how busy both of them have been and not with how fresh it still is. “I bet they’re meant as bribes to keep putting up with me. Mamma even said something to that effect.”

“Good thing I don’t even need to be bribed. How was the flight?”

“Extremely entertaining. I sat next to an absolute bombshell of a woman, as beautiful as she was smart, and we spent most of the flight talking about you and her wife. She even had her daughter with her and she was an angel, much better behaved than the brats around me on the first flight.” Maestro flashes him his completely healed stab wound and recovered wrist before kissing him a last time, taking his hand and dragging him away, visibly eager to be done with travelling for now. “Regardless, you’re a sight for sore eyes, tesoro, thank you for picking me up. I’m so glad to see you.”

His words deepen the warmth spreading throughout Sledge and he laces their fingers together, listening to Maestro bring him fully up to speed about his family while they walk to his car. He appears decidedly more hopeful about Berenice’s future than he did a few days ago – after he arrived, he went to see her first thing and later called while sounding thoroughly disillusioned, even resisting Sledge’s attempts to distract or lift his spirits. It’s typical Martello behaviour not to dwell on tragedy, however, not when there’s anything else going on and with how large the family is, there’s _always_ something going on.

“So, what about this secret date then? When are we leaving and when are you going to tell me what it’s about?”, he inquires once he’s been informed of all the relevant news, received regards from literally every person with whom Maestro spoke – even their neighbours – and asked Maestro to send his own salutations back.

“You’ll see once we get there. For the moment, I’ll have to go shopping and occupy your kitchen for some preparations, cioccolatino, and after that I’ll give you an address.”

 

Sledge doesn’t know what he expected, but after having driven through the countryside for a while, a rugby field was _not_ where he thought they’d end up. It’s relatively well-maintained and even has a stand though its surroundings are mostly barren except for a building close by which looks like - “This is a school”, he points out as he pulls into the gravelly parking space which is crowded with family cars as well as countless parents unloading their children, chatting with each other and wrangling family pets into not attacking each other. Diana, perched on top of Maestro’s lap, is watching attentively, ears straight and eyes flitting from one dog to the next.

“It is”, Maestro confirms and sounds inordinately pleased with himself, “and today we’ll witness the gripping conclusion of the century-old rivalry between the schools of Aylestone and Llangarran.”

“That is not at all how you pronounce it”, Sledge feels obliged to point out with a grin, “and I’ve never heard of any of this.”

“I really wanted to take you to a proper game but either the timing was off or it would’ve been too far away, so James graciously helped me in finding an alternative.”

By now, Sledge is laughing. “So we’re going to infiltrate a school game?”

“If you want to call it that. We’ve got the perfect disguise already – according to your cucciolo, you’re a dad, we have our principessa and I even packed a picnic. Are you ready to go undercover?”

Maestro’s thrilled demeanour is endearing and besides, it’s been entirely too long since Sledge last watched a game in person, let alone with someone excited to go. It brings up cherished memories of his own time as a player, causes a certain kind of nostalgia which isn’t accompanied by wistfulness but rather contentment: he enjoyed himself back then, immensely so, but at the same time doesn’t wish for simpler times. He’s happy with how things are now. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Diana barks at every other dog they encounter, even scaring a much larger mastiff much to everyone’s amusement, until Sledge picks her up and murmurs calming words into her fur. They choose a spot in the stands where they’re not inhibiting anyone’s view seeing as they’re both quite tall and sit down, thighs touching. Diana is pacing by their feet and Maestro performs a series of magic tricks where he conjures up a variety of food items which _couldn’t_ physically have fit into the bag he brought. He’s made ginger lemonade, cinnamon rolls and the fanciest sandwiches Sledge has ever seen in his life (with ingredients including, but not limited to, black tiger shrimps, redcurrant mayonnaise and ox heart tomatoes – not all on the same sandwich, that is).

While they watch the two teams trickle in, receiving last kisses and hugs from their families and a pep talk from their coach, Sledge uses the opportunity to explain the rules to Maestro. He realises he’s losing him somewhere halfway and simplifies his elaboration a little – as far as he knows, Maestro’s interest in sports is limited unless it’s about football or anything at which Italy is winning, therefore he refrains from tacking on too many anecdotes as he mentions each position with its role. At some point he notices Maestro playing dumb on purpose just to exasperate him and lightly elbows him in the side with an eye roll, to which he earns a snicker and a quick peck.

“Mum, those men are _kissing_!”, a sudden voice pipes up out of nowhere. Amused, they turn around to a small girl with wide eyes and a blushing mother whispering for her to be quiet.

“I’m _so_ sorry”, she mouths at them when she notices their gazes, “she’s just never been -”

“Are they in love?”, the girl wants to know in a stage whisper which almost makes Sledge chuckle.

“Very much so. What’s your name?” And just like that, Maestro is wholly occupied with distracting the girl. He’s fantastic with children, always has been, and Sledge knows it’s one of his greatest regrets in life to never have started a family of his own. There’s no doubt that he could have, Maestro has been involved with a few women in the past yet his inability – or rather unwillingness – to settle down indubitably played a large role as to why he never fathered a child. It became a topic early on in their relationship too: Sledge isn’t averse to adoption but the legal process in Italy is an absolute nightmare in that it neither allows nor recognises adoptions by unmarried same sex couples, let alone marriages themselves performed in other European countries. And Maestro doesn’t want to be unable to live in the country where his roots are firmly seated.

While Maestro jokes around with the snot-nosed girl, making her giggle and getting her to pet a now relaxed and grateful Diana, Sledge initiates small talk with the mother, indicating to her that neither of them take offence to the outburst about their affection. Eventually, she changes seats to take the space next to Maestro, visibly at ease now and even accepts the entirely transparent bribe of a few cinnamon rolls. She introduces herself as Sylvia and turns out to be absolutely lovely, so they spend the entire game chatting with her and carefully navigating the mine field as to what it is they’re actually doing here.

Maestro thoroughly enjoys doing this, going to a place and pretending either to be someone else or just lie about certain details, so when Sylvia asks which of the boys on the field is theirs after outing herself as a Llangarran mum, he points out ‘the blonde one on the bench’ on the Aylestone side, whereas at least three players sitting out for now could be construed as blonde. They should probably feel bad about deceiving a working mother struggling to support her children in any way she can, but ultimately they’re doing no harm and, judging by how often they make her laugh, even brighten her day. Sledge generously shares stories from his time as team captain and points out particularly skilled players (though he does hype them up a little – they’re still amateurs after all), Cathy, the little girl, proclaims Diana her new best friend, Sylvia cheers for her son and Maestro simply joins her.

They trade stories about teachers from hell, Maestro making up a woman called Higgins or Baggins (ignoring Sledge’s remark that she might’ve been called Haggis), claiming he doesn’t remember the name but oh boy does he remember her alarming disregard of lab safety. Sylvia and he are jointly _appalled_ at how carelessly she endangered the entire school and Sledge is almost cracking a rib from trying not to laugh. He ends up paying very little attention to the game itself though he does explain a manoeuvre or two but finds that he doesn’t even mind. Not when Maestro acts as if they were a married couple, comfortable enough with each other to not require constant affirmation but still so much in love that casual touches, quick kisses and the odd compliment are normal. Sylvia watches them with a secret smile and even Cathy doesn’t question them anymore, obviously satisfied with the general explanation Maestro gave.

It feels… normal. And reassuring, in a way. As far as first dates go, he supposes it’s fairly unusual and pretty specific but Maestro rarely goes the conventional route and it’s not as if Sledge wasn’t enjoying himself, quite the opposite. The food and the lemonade are predictably delicious, Diana relishes the opportunity to jump and run around with Cathy off to the side where they can still have an eye on both and when Llangarran wins, they congratulate Sylvia on the, as Sledge sees it, deserved victory. They have a drawn-out farewell and even exchange hugs before leaving, hoping no one questions them as to why they’re not collecting their alleged son.

Once they’re back in the car, they chuckle about the whole encounter, Maestro stressing time and time again how adorable and well-behaved Cathy is and how lucky to have a responsible and supportive mother whereas Sledge mockingly echoes some of the things he claimed certain teachers have done to their non-existent child, making them both laugh. It’s late enough to call it a day without making it awkward, Sledge could theoretically drop Maestro off at the base and let him settle in after his short ‘vacation’ but he realises he doesn’t really want to. Watching Maestro out of the corner of his eye, he takes in the relaxed posture, eagerness to jump on any topic Sledge mentions and the sparkle in his eye whenever he praises Sledge for anything and he – he’s painfully gorgeous.

Seeing someone interact with him who knows nothing about him, who has never heard of his achievements in his field, any of his stories, who doesn’t link his name to anything – looking through Sylvia’s eyes, he’s suddenly able to appreciate Maestro for what he is. He’s charismatic, eccentric, the best cook Sledge has ever met, capable of ensuring everyone around him is comfortable, he’s handsome and communicative and moves like a tiger, with lazy confidence and a hidden strength only perceptible in his step.

Maestro doesn’t question why Sledge drives them to his apartment instead of home, doesn’t remark on being invited up, but he does turn to Sledge expectantly as soon as the door closes behind them. Sledge, having learnt his lesson, shoos the corgi lady into the living room, closes this door as well and meets the questioning gaze from the man he adores so much head on.

“Don’t break anything”, he says with a small smile.

And the grin showing on Maestro’s face is nothing short of predatory.

There’s a reason as to why Maestro keeps reiterating that Sledge bruises easily, a statement which seemed to surprise most of Rainbow but he fears they’ll all begin to notice soon just how accurate it is. He idly wonders how upset Mute will be if he catches a glimpse of his body in the next few days as he crashes against the nearest wall, a solid body immediately invading his personal space and pressing into him. They’re both grinning into their haphazard, sloppy kisses, hands dragging and pushing, pulling at clothing and various body parts and it’s just as chaotic as he remembers. He gives as good as he gets, whirls Maestro around, tries to gain the upper hand and earns a sharp bite to his shoulder for it, so he reciprocates by shoving his hand into Maestro’s crotch and rubbing the heel of his palm over the growing bulge. After they began their relationship, they never sparred in front of others again and this is a large part of why not – Maestro goes especially wild when Sledge becomes rough.

For a while, they’re a flurry of limbs and every time it’s the most intense foreplay Sledge has experienced in his life because it’s full of pain, getting the air knocked out of his lungs and resembles a proper fight more than lovemaking but he knows the pay-off is more than worth it. And besides… he does genuinely enjoy it. Maestro growls and claws at him, tries to trip him but ends up getting dipped and with Sledge’s tongue in his mouth instead, dangerously close to just being dropped, so he holds on for dear life as he moans into Sledge’s mouth. He only needs one hand to hold Maestro, so he uses the other one to begin unbuckling his belt, not even bothering with his shirt as he neither feels the urge to waste valuable time on all the buttons nor wants to get yelled at later if he simply rips it open. They’ve both become extremely adept at sewing buttons back on by now.

Maestro wrestles the control back from him, herds him into the kitchen and knocks him into the counter (and this one will definitely end up purple) where a race starts of who can undress whom the fastest. It devolves almost immediately when Maestro notices he’s losing, so they end up smashing into a few more things, giggling and half-heartedly threatening each other while knocking over a chair and getting Sledge’s belt loop caught on a cupboard handle. Eventually, Maestro manages to bring him to his knees via unfair tactics of exploiting one of his weak spots (his ears are very sensitive and Maestro swirling his tongue over it always turns his legs to pudding). He’s not complaining, though, as he now is faced with the bulge peeking through Maestro’s open zip.

Without hesitation, he gets comfortable on the floor, reaches up and pulls both the decidedly too tight trousers down together with the expensive brand underwear and very nonchalantly makes the other man’s erection spring free, the thick flesh he last felt about a week ago and last saw more than three years ago now at eye level and it looks every bit as delicious as he remembers. It’s seated in black curls, the skin smooth and dark and the tip slightly wet already. He glances up, catches Maestro’s eye and they grin at each other.

“Please, caro mio”, Maestro pleads and when Sledge gives a slight nod, a hand curls around his jaw, a thumb drags his lower lip down and so he opens up and the sight alone makes the cock in front of him jump impressively. He knows how Maestro likes it and so he waits until he’s peeled back his foreskin to lap at the underside of the head, tasting his skin and feeling something inside him… settle. As if part of him went: _we’re doing this. This is real. I can touch him whenever and however I want_.

“Madonna, I want to fuck your throat raw”, Maestro says just as reverently as any other compliment he utters and it causes Sledge to chuckle while he wraps his lips around the head. Sometimes, Maestro forgets his vulgar language amuses as much as it arouses and allows pure filth to spill from his mouth without even noticing.

The competitive, almost vicious groping and manhandling from before which has paused to let Sledge get accustomed to the warm weight of Maestro’s shaft on his tongue spontaneously picks up again and only a few seconds later, fingertips are digging into his skull and they’re somehow both scrambling to choke him on the rock hard dick in his mouth. He drags the clothes further down, grabs two handfuls of Maestro’s ass and feels it flex under his fingers while Maestro keeps pushing in.

He tastes amazing and Sledge eagerly suckles on the tip when given the chance, just like he drinks in every loud moan and slap of skin – Maestro is unsurprisingly noisy in bed, never grows tired of letting Sledge know just how incredible it feels though for once, he’s not talking. During sex, he rarely does, prefers doing it just before and after but hardly in the act itself for some reason. Right now, he’s too caught up anyway, has to prop himself up on the counter behind Sledge to not lose balance or have his legs give in, his hips pumping steadily and his cock reaching deep. His thighs are trembling already, an indication he won’t last long and so Sledge makes the conscious effort to relax his throat, allow him even further in and guides him with his hands.

This is always his favourite part: watching Maestro come undone, lose all composure, hand himself over – because as much as he’s controlling the movement, he’d stop in a heartbeat if Sledge gave him a signal. Maestro knows he’s being granted this privilege of doing with Sledge’s body whatever he wants and would never see it as his right, so it’s always something special, deeply intimate. It goes both ways but since Maestro has the upper hand more often than not, he’s particularly grateful. His thrusts are getting faster now, shallower because he doesn’t want to hurt Sledge, and when he moves one of his hands to cup his lover’s balls, cradle them in his palm and massage them gently, a strangled cry tells him Maestro’s over the edge.

Sledge holds his breath as he drags his lover’s hips in, lets him come deep and swallows around him while the shaft throbs, smiles at the gasps coming from above him and makes sure to drink every last drop. Maestro’s fingers are fluttering against the side of his face, shaking and quite clearly not knowing what to do as his orgasm first pulls his body taut only to wrench away the tension bit by bit. Sledge only lets him withdraw in small increments, licks him clean and sucks on the sensitive head until Maestro swats at him and eventually releases him with a wet sound, eyeing the glistening erection almost proudly.

After he’s done huffing Italian curses and has caught his breath again, Maestro fixes him with an accusing glare. “Luce dei miei occhi, light of my life, owner of my loins, you fucking _practised_.”

“I did”, Sledge confirms with a self-satisfied laugh, still caressing his testicles and wrapping his other hand around the shaft to give it a few last tugs, squeezing out the rest of the come before licking that off, too, savouring the taste on his tongue and earning a helpless look from Maestro.

“You have no business being this fucking sexy, amore, and I want hardly anything more than returning the favour right now, but please, do tell: whom do I need to murder?” He moans quietly when a thumb rubs over his slit but makes no move to stop Sledge, so he continues fondling him for a bit longer.

“Fairly sure silicone never counted as alive anyway”, Sledge murmurs, prompting a disbelieving snort.

“What, you deepthroated dildos?” He merely lifts an eyebrow. “ _What_? You really did? Holy fuck, cuore mio, provide me with details and I’m ready for round two.”

“I’d invite you to watch but I’m fairly certain you’d rather offer yourself as practice dummy instead.” After planting a last kiss to his dick, Sledge tucks him back in and gets up with a pained groan – oh yes, most of these are going to turn into bruises, that’s for sure. “Come on, I’ll drive you back to the base. You haven’t even gotten the chance to unpack yet.”

Maestro raises his gaze from where Sledge is currently zipping him back up and shows a vaguely disappointed pout. “Vita mia, you’re not even going to let me sleep in your arms?”

And his mouth is already open to respond with what he only _just_ catches as a generic excuse. _I’m tired. You’re probably tired. You only came back today. This was our first date after all_. He was about to use one of these and they’re all bullshit, every single one of them – even the last one, because just like their very first date, they’ve been dancing around each other for a while and it hardly counts as their first date, even less since they’ve snogged before. And besides, Maestro wasn’t even suggesting anything sexual. All he wants is to share a bed with him.

The prospect is sweet, he does enjoy all this physical contact, is starving for more of Maestro’s smell, to feel his toned body against his own, and yet… what?

_What if she already has?_

He wouldn’t have to worry about adoption or marriage laws with her, the bond of trust they share quite obviously runs deeper than almost all others Maestro has, maybe even all of them, and the way they look at each other, the way they look together, maybe Maestro is making a mistake or maybe he is or they both are, maybe _all_ of it is a mistake. His thoughts are racing now, as if they wanted to be heard before he squashes them, as if he accidentally dug too deep somewhere and it’s all shooting out, black like oil but certainly not as valuable because all it does is clog his mind, cover his blissful memories and the lovely afternoon they just spent and his entire future with a film impossible to wash off, it’s black tar and sticky and cruel and -

“No”, he says simply, offering no other explanation.

And Maestro gets angry. His contentment vanishes in seconds, gives way to stormy rage and oh, looks like he’s about to witness the full extent of his temperament, for the very first time in his life directed at him and it doesn’t matter that his Gucci or Armani underwear or whoever it is he’s wearing today is still showing, it doesn’t matter that he knows Maestro loves him endlessly, it doesn’t matter that he can still taste him, what matters are his nostrils flaring and the dangerous glint in his eye and the closed-off expression which Sledge has never seen, not like this, not towards _him_ , not caused by him. “What”, Maestro starts through clenched teeth and he’s making a conscious effort to remain calm, allow none of the fury to bubble to the surface for it’ll surely erupt, “did I do?”

Sledge doesn’t know. What did he do? Concerning him, everything right as far as he knows – Maestro is attentive, generous, affectionate, witty, competent, and yet.

He wouldn’t cheat. He hasn’t cheated. He’s honest with him, hasn’t lied to him.

Except for the time where Maestro pretended everything was fine but in his mind he was never going on that holiday to Morocco.

It must show on his face, bleed through his features which are probably slowly dissolving together with the warm feeling which was present ever since they arrived at the rugby field and remained until just now; suddenly Maestro is burning, his company scorching. His face turns stony. “There is but one thing I ask of you, anima mia. Make up your mind. Let me know once you’ve done so.” And with that, he closes his trousers, turns away and leaves Sledge staring after him forlornly.

 

~*~

 

Before Maestro, Sledge has never experienced heartbreak. When he was in school, there was this one lad, stormy eyes and wild curls, a bit of a dreamer and quiet in class despite being bright and witty – he was Sledge’s first real crush at a relatively young age. He liked looking at him doodling on his worksheet with his left hand, liked watching him interact with his friends and laugh, and eventually, looking wasn’t enough anymore. He liked thinking about kissing him, liked pretending it was _his_ hand and that Sledge was the one to make him smile, and eventually, imagining wasn’t enough anymore. He told him.

The boy reacted with disbelief, an awkward mix of not wanting to offend him but extremely unwilling as well, so Sledge apologised and told him to forget it, the whole ordeal leaving him worried that there was something wrong with him because quite obviously, these feelings weren’t _normal_. The next day, people who saw them talk asked his crush what Sledge had told him and he could’ve uttered a few words which would’ve branded him for the rest of his school career, might’ve resulted in him having to leave the rugby team and who knows what else, but instead he made up an excuse and didn’t speak of all that Sledge had revealed to him. He didn’t understand until much later how grateful to the boy he should’ve been.

So yes, getting rejected hurt and destroyed his hope for two, three years but none of it, none of his other relationships can compare to the pain Maestro inflicted. Two were a mutual breakup and the last one he saw coming – despite being unable to stop it, he was able to prepare for it and come to terms with it prior to the actual end. Maestro came out of the blue, trampled all over everything they built together and left Sledge lost, confused and hurting, an ache more vicious and deeper than anything before, so much worse than his affection being unrequited, so much worse than knowing it’s over even though the reasons are hardly sensible.

Avoidance helped. He deleted Maestro from his life – or attempted to, anyway, his roots stretched far into almost every part of Sledge’s life, impossible to be removed and refusing to wilt – and yet there was one aspect he didn’t give up though he let it rest for a while: the language. Most of Maestro’s relatives don’t speak English very well and some sent him heartfelt messages in their mother tongue which he decrypted with the help of an Italian acquaintance of Thatcher’s who offered to continue teaching him. And Sledge accepted. He didn’t tell anyone except for Castle who decided to pick up the language together with him and for a while, they met regularly to compare results, work through a few online lessons together and practise conversations. It trailed off after a particularly busy phase but Sledge remembers some of it still.

Neither Maestro nor Alibi are aware of him having studied Italian, he didn’t think it was necessary to let them know and no situation has come up where it would’ve been relevant.

No, actually. That’s a lie.

It’s not the reason why he hasn’t told them. It’s partly because he eventually wants to surprise Maestro and partly because he hopes to catch them unaware. He actually did make plans to eavesdrop on them. And if that doesn’t show how unwell he is, how unhealthy his current mental state, then nothing else can.

 

It was the last straw.

They’re in the kitchenette. Sledge is chatting with Smoke, discussing plans to meet up, nothing which requires all of his attention as he pours hot water for them both while Alibi and Maestro are sitting at the small table, Maestro very carefully avoiding sitting at the corner, and talking quietly in Italian. He’s… distant. For Maestro’s standards, he’s outright frosty towards Sledge, merely greeted him with a smile and a compliment but refrained from touching him, was exceedingly pleasant whenever they crossed paths but never once actively sought him out. Sledge doubts anyone else noticed but _he_ did and Maestro knows he did and so it still stings. He has all reason to behave like he does, must feel rejected and unfairly treated and yet Sledge can’t bring himself to apologise outright.

And then, he hears it. Alibi’s calm voice in her usual serious tone which is normal when talking to others but rare when it’s Maestro she’s addressing, representing what drew Sledge’s attention to the two of them in the first place – but whatever it is, he hears the words she says, confident in having them stay between the two, in them remaining confidential: “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“Tell him what, sunshine?” It’s Maestro’s personal nickname for her and couldn’t have been picked better as simply seeing her makes his expression light up.

“Everything.” Her gaze flickers to Sledge, is met by his and followed by both of them averting theirs again but at least he now knows it’s _him_ they’re discussing. Smoke seems largely oblivious and continues with his story of how Mute ended up having to repair their microwave because of a snapped CD.

“No, of course not. He doesn’t know.”

“Will you tell him?”

Another shake of his head. “No, sunshine. Even if he asks me. I won’t.”

The last straw. Sledge doesn’t want to draw conclusions and yet he does. He doesn’t want his stomach to drop and yet it does. He doesn’t want to question everything, doubt all which Maestro confessed, invalidate his actions and yet he’s _this close_. Not even if he asked?

Not even if he asked. It could be something confidential. Something he’s obliged to keep secret, some sinister knowledge they share, a burden they have to bear alone. It’s possible. It’s just as possible that there’s been something going on in the background, something which Sledge never even considered. Something at which Mute has hinted. _What if she changes her mind?_

_What if she already_ _has_ _?_

It takes most of his willpower to not just leave once again, as he did when Mute brought up the possibility in the first place. Instead, he nods at Smoke, systematically pushes his doubts and worries away and files them under ‘to do’. He’ll deal with it later.

He’s better than crying in his workplace.

 

Alibi is outside, enjoying the afternoon sun and chatting with a handful of their colleagues when Sledge finds her. He manages to get her attention without alerting everyone to his presence and nods in the direction of the living quarters. She catches up with him halfway, as usual impeccably dressed and groomed (very much like her teammate) and regarding Sledge with a gently curious expression as if he was a gentleman requiring her formal opinion on something. It’s typical of her to wait until he starts the conversation because then the duty of introducing whichever topic he wanted to discuss falls to him, effectively eliminating all small talk. He does like her, he realises not for the first time, despite all. Her attitude resonates with him.

“Aria”, he addresses her and still doesn’t get any verbal acknowledgement, “we need to talk.”

Still pleasant, she replies: “I don’t think we do.”

She has a point. Granted, he doesn’t know any details but he shouldn’t imply she’s at fault just yet. “…I’d like to talk to you. Do you have the time?”

“Of course. Let’s go to my room, shall we?” Alibi leads them through the corridors in silence and Sledge appreciates the gesture as he’s still stuck on the step where he works up the courage to ask the questions which have been gnawing at him for a while. Several years, in fact. He has the sinking feeling he won’t like whatever it is he’s going to hear in the next minutes, not when Alibi isn’t even making small talk, not when she invites him to a private, secluded place instead of quickly answering his worries in a more public setting. His heart is pounding and he hasn’t been this nervous in a while, funnily enough – since he’ll hopefully get closure now, he should be looking forward to _knowing_.

He’s finally doing something which he should’ve done a long time ago.

“I assume you know why I’m here?”, he begins before they’ve even sat down and he knows it’s a mistake but couldn’t help himself anyway. Alibi takes a seat on her perfectly made bed and indicates her chair, neatly placed by the desk and creaking under Sledge’s weight once he dragged it to a point where the two of them are facing each other, Alibi with an arched eyebrow, he with restless hands and aimless thoughts.

“Why don’t you bring me up to speed?”

The soft suggestion is much more than that and both of them are painfully aware – she’s sussing out how much he knows. Sledge is too tired to play her games, however, too anxious to keep dancing and refusing to admit to the truth, so he decides full disclosure is his best shot at finding peace for himself, regardless of whether Alibi appreciates the candidness or not. “I’m jealous”, he replies and notices how her eyebrows rise a fraction. “For the first time in my entire life, I’m fully jealous and apparently unable to deal with it as it keeps sneaking up on me when I least expect it – so I can’t keep pushing it away. I need to address it. That’s why I’m here, Aria. This is neither your fault nor your problem, which I realise, so I apologise for involving you at all, but I’m asking you for help. I can’t be happy like this. I’ve tried, I lied to myself, pretended everything was fine when it wasn’t. Please be honest with me, I -”

“You don’t trust him”, she interrupts him with a thoughtful expression. It’s a statement rather than a question and Sledge, appalled, realises she’s right. It’s what it boils down to, otherwise there’d be no reason to be jealous – if he was unshakably certain of Maestro remaining by his side and not even be tempted by anything or anyone to leave him, he simply wouldn’t experience any of this.

“I don’t”, he admits quietly and detests the notion at the same time. He fancies himself a good partner but it seems he’ll have to correct this image of himself.

“And you never have. Even back then.” She’s ruthless and it’s part of the reason why Sledge hesitated this long to approach her. He’s witnessed her analysing people in worrying detail before. “You always thought yourself second to me.”

Again, she’s right. “I was”, he insists and earns a gentle shake of the head.

“No. Adriano loves me, as fiercely as I love him but it’s not the kind of love you’re thinking. It’s possible there was a time where he’d have jumped on the opportunity to become my lover but if there ever was, it’s faded long before he even met you. Based on what I know, what he’s told me, I can tell you why you still considered me a rival.”

So far, the conversation isn’t at all going like he expected but it’s not a bad thing. She’s implied that there’s nothing for him to worry about and yet doesn’t seem to be done by far. He needs to know: “Why?”

“Previously, you’ve only been with gay men. Never someone also attracted to women.” She’s correct, though he fails to grasp how this is relevant. “Adriano noticed it too, you paid less attention to him flirting with men than when he does the same thing with women. Do you feel inadequate?”

It’s not something which is easy to admit to himself and yet he pondered it before, even back then already. Seeing Maestro with Cathy must’ve unearthed the old doubts, eaten away at his confidence once more and now Alibi is mercilessly dragging it all the way to the surface, rubbing it under his nose as if he was a misbehaving dog. He deserves it, he supposes, these feelings of uncertainty shouldn’t exist in the first place, he’s better than that. “I suppose I do”, he replies hesitantly. “There’s no risk of discrimination if he’s with a woman. And he’s a family man.”

“He’s a family man when it comes to his relatives. He wouldn’t be happy with a kid.” Alibi sounds very sure of herself and Sledge wonders whether she’s heard it from the man himself, in which case there’d always be reasonable doubt left. “You already know how he is now, blaming himself for perceived shortcomings towards his family, now add a child to the equation and he’d probably tear himself apart trying to balance it all perfectly.” No, he has to correct himself – this is based on observations. This is not something Maestro would admit of himself. It seems he really refused to give Alibi enough credit, she’s intimately familiar with Maestro and possibly knows his personality better than even Sledge. “And we both know he doesn’t care about discrimination or something equally silly. You’re just having a hard time imagining a woman being this close to a man, neither of whom homosexual, without there being anything more than friendship.”

Her voice is cutting and this, too, is fair enough. Again, he nods. “I do. You have to admit, it’s fairly unusual, especially with both parties being single. I haven’t encountered it often, maybe never to this degree of familiarity. How can you be so sure he feels the same way you do?”

“I asked him.” It’s as simple as that. She crosses her legs, folds her hands around her knee. Sledge forgets to breathe. “When it was clear we were both going to join Rainbow, when it was clear that _you_ would be part of it, I had a momentary lapse of judgement. Adriano is – apart from my father – the only man whom I’ve ever fully trusted, who supported me immediately and returned that trust. I was terrified of losing him, so I tried to bind him to me the only way I saw how. I offered myself and I was turned down.”

This is the first Sledge is hearing of any of this, making him wonder just how much he might’ve soured Alibi’s and his potential friendship with his unfounded jealousy. Maestro at some point learned to carefully avoid bringing her up, probably sensing Sledge’s annoyance upon simply hearing her name, and kept them apart, correctly surmising Sledge wouldn’t appreciate having to try and befriend someone whom he saw as his rival. The worst part is that he didn’t even notice, pretended like he was being nothing but courteous to Alibi when in reality he might’ve been curt or even rude at times. “He didn’t accept?”

“No. I expected him to, otherwise I wouldn’t have made the offer, but he refused. And it was the best thing he could’ve done, for both of us – we wouldn’t have been happy, we’re ultimately too different for that, I’m too single-minded and he’s too fickle. It took me a while to believe him when he said he wasn’t going to give me up or even neglect me for you. By now, I’m absolutely certain we’re both content with our friendship as it is. So you have nothing to fear.”

They’re both silent for a long while, Sledge processing all which he just heard and Alibi watching him curiously. It’s a talent of hers to make him feel like an idiot and as much as he dislikes it, it’s warranted in this case. There’s one large part of this which still needs to be cleared up, however. “Please don’t take offence to this if it’s not the case, but did you contact him on our first date after reuniting on purpose? To see whether he’d ignore you?”

Alibi’s lips curl into an amused smile. “I can see why you’d think that. But no, I didn’t. He’s taken to not telling me about his plans until after the fact to deter me from refraining to contact him. He’s not wrong, had I known he was trying to reconnect with you that evening, I wouldn’t have sent the text.”

This confirms a hope he’s harboured for a long time: Alibi’s calls are justified and urgent. He mostly believed so anyway, not thinking Maestro would leave his side for nothing, and yet Alibi’s lack of apologies is the proof. Were it anything trivial, she’d excuse herself, but if it’s something even she considers necessary, he doesn’t doubt its validity anymore. And still he’d like to know more details, just to finally have peace, so his curiosity is sated.

She laughs and it’s not entirely entertained, there’s an underlying bitterness which is retroactively explained by her next words: “I can see it’s eating you up inside but you’re too proud to ask. You see, I get panic attacks, bad ones, now and then. I can go an entire year without one only to suffer from several in close succession. When it gets too much to handle, I let Adriano know – he insisted after I once ended up with a concussion and a few broken ribs because I fainted and fell down a flight of stairs. I detest everything about it but he makes them bearable.”

And there he has it. He can feel both his anxiousness evaporate and his respect for the woman in front of him rise. She speaks of it so easily when he knows it’s everything but. It explains everything, he can picture her requesting Maestro’s presence after waking up from a bad dream – he’s definitely the type to not even dress properly before complying, and the aftermath must’ve been what Bandit saw who passed it on to Smoke and Mute who in turn shook the very foundation of Sledge’s trust in Maestro. It also explains why Maestro kept silent about it – it wasn’t his story to tell, especially since Alibi probably asked him to stay quiet. She wouldn’t want her fellow operators to know of this weakness as she’s also a very private person. It’s a show of how much she means to Maestro that he didn’t share it with anyone when he usually enjoys gossiping and is terrible at keeping secrets, but Sledge supposes Alibi wouldn’t have revealed it to him in the first place if she couldn’t count on him.

“I’m sorry”, he says sincerely and the smile returns to her face, “I’m a fool.”

“That’s okay. Adriano is, too. After all, he left you – the biggest mistake of his life and I would’ve talked him out of it had I known of his intentions. He is serious about you. Please take him back.”

“I have.” She remains mute, is merely studying him closely. “No, you’re right. I _will_. I’ll do it properly this time. Thank you for telling me all this, I should’ve talked to you sooner.”

“Maybe”, Alibi responds dismissively which probably means that she might not have disclosed some of the details at an earlier point. She’s not one for sentimental gestures and so she stands up, indicates they’re done, Sledge has received all that he came for. And he really did. Only now does he notice he’s giddy with relief, all the tension gone from his shoulders, breathing isn’t a chore anymore and thinking of Maestro a joy. He can’t wait to see him now, can’t wait to tell him that he indeed has felled a final decision now. He’ll have a lot to make up to him – but so does the Italian, maybe it’ll just cancel each other out. In a way. They’ll find a solution.

He gets up as well, mind reeling from the sudden realisation of having overcome a crisis he even refused to acknowledge and is ready to skip all the way home when a random thought hits him out of nowhere. It leaves his mouth faster than he can intervene and even though it’s rude, he says: “You knew we were on vacation in Egypt though.”

Alibi nods, oddly pleased with him and it seems this was another test of hers, another trick to see whether he’s been listening, whether he’s still thinking independently. Only it boggles his mind she does it in this setting as well, because - “I did. That time, it was a different matter.” Her voice is even and calm. “It turned out someone from my undercover work left me a gift. I didn’t want it. So I asked for Adriano’s assistance.”

Sledge is instantly ripped back to reality as soon as he understands what she means. “Christ”, he murmurs.

“It’s difficult to do in Italy, so I went to Spain. And he ensured I didn’t have to go alone.” He’s at a loss for words, struggling to come up with a tasteful reply when all he wants to do is reassure her somehow even though she’s given him no sign she needs it, quite the opposite, she’s as cool and collected as always but now he’s been allowed to peek behind her façade and thus can’t see her as an ice queen anymore. “You can hug me if you’d like”, she tells him softly and yes, he would like that, actually. He crosses the distance between them and gently pulls her into an embrace which she reciprocates with more force than he would’ve expected.

He understands. There’s no doubt Maestro and he are the only people whom she voluntarily told of her attacks and of… of _this_ , and in doing so she’s proving to him the effort to get closer to him. Nothing should be keeping them apart, they share most of their goals, are determined and driven by a strong sense of responsibility and, most of all, they’re very close with Maestro. It’s obvious she wishes to eradicate any leftover hard feelings to allow the two of them an untainted shot at proper friendship and he appreciates it. He’d like to spend more time with her, especially knowing she doesn’t actually dislike him, as he feared.

“When Adrianito is unavailable, don’t hesitate to call me”, he tells her and feels her nod lightly.

“I’ll consider it”, she says and it’s a good start.

 

Sledge ends up talking to Alibi for much longer than expected because he can’t let it end on this note. He does text Maestro to have Smoke drop him off at Sledge’s place once the two of them are done with their errands, a detail he only knows because Mute mentioned it off-handedly – his teammates assumed all was well between them and he left them in that belief. No need to shake the beehive unnecessarily, not when he didn’t know for certain what was going on. And now that he knows he’s glad he managed not to make a big deal out of it or show just how much he still doubted Maestro. There’d be no recovering from Mute’s endless dubious nudges and inquiries otherwise.

Whenever Alibi and he are about to say goodbye, however, one of them remembers a topic they need to address, be it something related to work or Maestro or Sledge himself, and so when he’s finally on the way to his flat in the midst of a torrential downpour, it’s pretty late already. He assumes Maestro will be waiting in his apartment but when he sets foot in it, fortunately dry due to having found a parking space very close to the door, it’s completely deserted. Not even Diana greets him.

He checks every room and finds her leash gone as well, so Maestro probably took her for a walk, assuming rightly that Sledge hasn’t been home yet, and even when he’s angry, when he’s justifiably furious with him, he still is this thoughtful. How he has slighted this man. Even the pain from three years ago is forgotten, healed by time and an explanation which probably would’ve been cause for cold anger back then but now, in hindsight, makes a lot of sense to him. He remembers Alibi’s words about him not being happy with a child despite wanting one and understands how torn he must’ve been, how unprepared to settle down. Even if Sledge never demanded it from him. It doesn’t excuse what he did but it explains it and allows Sledge to forgive more easily – he now knows the reason and knowing is half the battle.

This is when he glances at his fridge and finds the note. _Out with your principessa, won’t take more than 20 minutes_ , it says. He notices the changed pronoun, it’s _his_ princess again and not _theirs_. He notices the lack of _xxxx_. It’s clinical and curt and he needs to let Maestro know that he’s made up his mind right this instant because letting any of this fester would be torture. He slips into his shoes, grabs a large umbrella and hurries down the stairs, in his mind already plotting the likeliest route Maestro has taken and hoping he catches him halfway and doesn’t miss him.

When he pulls open the door, however, he’s instantly greeted with the view of a thoroughly soaked Italian with an extremely grumpy corgi on a leash, already pushing inside through his legs, and Maestro’s hair is flattened by the rain and looks pitiful, his shirt is almost transparent and all of his clothes must be completely wet. His usual charm is gone and he doesn’t even smile when he lays eyes on Sledge. As far as greetings go, this is the coldest one he’s ever gotten from Maestro and he _can’t_ , he can’t endure this any second longer.

“I love you”, he announces and Maestro just blinks at him tiredly, not understanding. It’s the first time Sledge has said it to anyone in more than three years and it’s a weight lifted off his shoulders, it’s a cadaver finally laid to rest, it’s the last puzzle piece clicking into place. He knows with his entire being that it’s true, that just like Maestro, he never stopped, not once, has thought of him an inordinate amount of time the past years and the certainty that nothing will keep them apart anymore empowers him, provides the inner peace he needs to simply grab his lover’s hand and pull him upstairs.

“I love you”, he stresses and Maestro just allows him to towel his hair. He’s already taken care of Diana, gently rubbed first her paws dry and then the rest of her fur, he’s unbuttoned Maestro’s shirt and draped it over the back of a chair, grabbed a towel and is now massaging his scalp with it. Maestro looks defeated, fatalistic in how he readily complies yet takes no initiative.

“I love you”, he repeats and Maestro just accepts the clothes Sledge presses into his hands. He still doesn’t comprehend yet follows the non-verbal instructions mechanically, lets himself be shooed into the living room so he can rid himself of the soaked fabric, hair wildly pointing in every direction at once. Sledge leaves him to it for the moment, brews himself a cup of tea and gives the still wet and smelly Diana a mohawk while he waits.

When Maestro, largely dry and in fresh garments though now looking like a blow-dried instead of a drowned animal, appears in the doorway, hovering uncertainly, Sledge understands the full extent of his trepidation. He expects to be turned away for good and seems to have made peace with it already. Outwardly, at least. “Adrianito, I love you”, Sledge reiterates and abandons his tea entirely, gets up, returns the fearful gaze from warm brown eyes. “There is no hook. There’s no _but_. This is it. I’ve decided for good this time, I promise.”

The only reaction is that Maestro is tearing up now and so Sledge doesn’t hesitate in scooping him up, lifting him with a groan and carrying him to the bedroom where they collapse onto the mattress, both instantly drawn to each other, limbs entangling, hands clinging, and as soon as Maestro is pressed against Sledge’s chest, he heaves a shuddery breath. He’s never been this quiet before, clearly struggling to hold in his emotions while Sledge pets his damp hair, kisses away the moisture at the corner of his eye and simply holds him close. It seems there’s not much else he can do right now, except for apologising.

“I was unfair to you and I’m sorry”, he mutters, pushes the arm on which Maestro’s head isn’t resting under the t-shirt Sledge gave him and strokes over the cool skin. “None of this was your fault – I should’ve realised I wasn’t ready to commit yet and I should’ve let you know, but I lied to us both and for that, I’m also sorry. I hurt you and kept pushing you away but I won’t anymore. Because I can’t bear the thought of being separated from you a day longer. Please forgive me.”

By now, Maestro is properly crying though it’s worryingly silent, and yet he nods wordlessly.

“This time, we’re going to move in together, alright? You can even sing your horribly cheesy Puccini while you cook and I’ll clean after you. If you end up not liking where we live, we can pack up and move, you know I rarely get attached to things. But I am attached to you. I’d rather be jobless and homeless but with you by my side than with my future all planned out but you’re suffocating. We can switch countries every couple of months if you like.”

Finally, this startles a strangled laugh out of his lover and makes him object with an unsteady voice: “You’re in your mid thirties and you already have a retirement plan. All of what you’re suggesting will drive you insane.”

“Possibly”, Sledge answers easily. “But it’s worth it. _You’re_ worth it. And you did not deserve the way I treated you.”

“You didn’t either, luce dei miei occhi.”

For once, there are no obligations weighing them down, no places they have to be, no perceived decency to uphold anymore. Sledge realises in hindsight that he carefully avoided being alone with Maestro in a private place for an extended period of time, orchestrated it so he wouldn’t feel guilty about having to turn him down, realises that this problem of distrust and harmful caution ran deeper than he was aware. It’s something he’ll have to monitor so it won’t affect their relationship from now on because he, too, should make an effort. Maestro being the only one bearing the responsibility of making their union work was just as unfair as a lot of other things Sledge did. He claimed to have forgiven him, yet didn’t. He has to stop blaming Maestro for something they should’ve cleared up.

Right now, they’re both healing by clinging to each other, relishing the shared body heat and affectionate touches, the laziness of it all and how unhurried it is, allowing it to soothe both their nerves. Sledge lets his hand wander over Maestro’s thigh, reacquaints himself with his silhouette purely through the aid of his fingertips, caresses the spots which are slightly ticklish and make the Italian in his arms squirm away, and the spots which are Maestro’s favourites and make him stretch into the touch instead. They kiss, slow and deliberate, and Sledge scratches the soft beard gently.

“I talked to Aria”, he says after a long while, after they’ve shifted positions and Maestro is now at eye level with him, regarding him with so much adoration Sledge feels giddy inside. “She told me a few things. Why she needs you.”

“She opened up to you?” Maestro seems genuinely surprised. “I had to pry and basically interrogate her to get answers. And she just mentioned it to you out of the blue?”

“Well, I did ask her about it.”

Even more astonishment. “Why did you ask her? You’re not normally that curious.” Sledge refuses to answer and tries to escape this line of questioning with another kiss but Maestro is not having it. “Wait – tesoro mio, are you telling me you were _jealous_?”

“Maybe a little”, he murmurs dismissively. “Don’t dwell on it.”

“Oh. Oh no. You’ve never been jealous in your life before, Seamus, it must’ve eaten you up inside. Why didn’t you talk to me?” And despite the sympathy in his voice, his face has brightened considerably, probably both from amusement as well as flattery. He looked like this the first time Sledge socked someone in the jaw for him, a mixture of pride and unbridled _love_. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you were actually jealous. This is the best day of my life for a variety of reasons now. You claimed you’d _never_ be jealous. You were so adamant that I believed you. And you were jealous of Aria of all people?”

“Yes, of course. She’s the only constant in your life. Can we move on?”

“Seamus, amore, you’re _embarrassed_. I’ve never been so endeared in my life. You’re blushing, stop, my heart can’t take this. We’re both idiots, vita mia, come here.” Maestro peppers him with kisses and rubs their noses together, smiling broadly now. “I’m so weak for you. I love you so much. We really should learn to talk to each other more.”

It’s hard to find the motivation to overcome his embarrassment when it seems to bring his lover this much joy. “You couldn’t have helped me anyway, you wouldn’t have told me anything. You said so yourself.”

And he could’ve smacked himself because both Maestro and he realise simultaneously that the only person he reassured of this was Aria. In Italian. “You understood what we were saying?” A meek nod. “You continued to study Italian? I was so sure you’d stop, how fluent are you? Tell me a few phrases you remember, like ‘pleased to meet you’.”

“Those aren’t really the ones on which I concentrated”, Sledge admits sheepishly.

Now he has Maestro’s full attention. “Oh yeah? Which ones do you still know then?”

“I love you”, he replies in Maestro’s mother tongue and earns a delighted smile but he’s far from done: “Like a ray of light you have brightened my life.”

“I don’t deserve you”, Maestro replies and looks helplessly, hopelessly enamoured.

“You are my reason for living, for why I smile every day.” His pronunciation is probably atrocious but neither of them seem to care. “You are the one I’ve been waiting for.”

“This is killing you inside, isn’t it?” He’s wearing a wide, devoted grin, knowing full well that Sledge usually refuses to stoop to his level of flattery, of flowery phrases and cheesy compliments, but the fact that it’s another language helps, so Sledge just shakes his head, amused. In return, Maestro replies in Italian, enunciating each word clearly so that Sledge understands: “I have written a love story with a beginning but no ending – so that we may write it together, light of my eyes, my soul, my heart, my life.”

And this is decidedly too much, makes him laugh embarrassedly and avert his gaze. “Okay, _this_ is killing me. Please stop.”

“I’m learning so much about you today. You’re capable of making mistakes after all, you’re jealous and you secretly learnt my language to flirt with me. All of it just makes me adore you even more.”

“I also studied the most important Italian swearwords, if I may change the topic”, Sledge informs him and earns a laugh which he reciprocates. It’s all suddenly so easy. Who could’ve known that loving someone and being loved could be this uncomplicated in the end?

Maestro kisses him once more and snuggles impossibly closer. “Will you let me stay here tonight?”

And there’s only one proper answer to his question. “Of course. You can even move in tomorrow if you like.” Because this is the face he wants to see first thing in the morning for the rest of his life.

Over Maestro’s shoulder, he catches sight of a corgi with a mohawk, peeking over the edge of the bed expectantly. Sledge smiles, allows her to jump on the bed to join the cuddle puddle and kisses Maestro some more seeing as they have a lot to catch up on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank everyone who drew beautiful, beautiful art (looking at you [kapcan](https://kapcan.tumblr.com)!!), wrote me lovely messages, commented, bookmarked, left Kudos and just generally made me feel good about writing this fic along the way, I love you all so much ❤❤  
> There is going to be another short chapter which will be all fluff and smut as I couldn't fit everything in this one and I'll likely write a few more snippets (which will be posted on [my tumblr](http://kiruuuuu.tumblr.com)) about these two because they've become so dear to me. I hope you all enjoyed the read (and if not, I'm always open to constructive criticism)!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy reading this tooth-rotting fluff as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

It’s the best he’s been in _years_. His sleep felt like absolution and waking up like being born anew, the beginning of something he’s been waiting for a long time. Oddly, it’s simultaneously a continuation, picking up where they left off as if no time had passed, as if Rainbow had been an extended vacation yet now they’re reunited again.

In any case, his heart threatens to burst simply from _looking_. Maestro is lying on his back, stretched out over decidedly more than his half of the bed (and of course he’s claimed the side closest to the door again as he always does, his predictability both amusing and reassuring: no matter how much he prides himself on never standing still, there are details he can’t and won’t alter). He’s snoring softly, features slack yet doing no disfavour to his innate beauty whatsoever – he’s gorgeous even while sleeping, hair messily sticking up from all his tossing and turning, beard dishevelled and the dark curls on his chest peeking out from under the blanket, all of which are inviting Sledge to run his fingers through them. His previous partners certainly couldn’t be considered ugly and despite not placing too much importance on superficial aspects, Maestro’s attractiveness still amazes him.

The bright morning sun flatters his complexion and so Sledge is unable to tear his gaze away for an embarrassingly long time while he finally allows himself to fantasise about their future together – yet another thing he denied himself until now. Searching for a flat with which both of them are happy is going to be a nightmare because pets need to be allowed, Sledge is going to insist on a room he can turn into an office so he can work undisturbed and Maestro is going to demand a large kitchen and a garden or, at the very least, a balcony so he can grow herbs and other plants like chives, basil, mint and bay leaf.

Imagining them arguing about finances as well as details which Sledge finds negligible but Maestro inexplicably essential isn’t hard, he knows it’s going to be part of the process yet finds himself looking forward to even _that_ , to Maestro potentially intimidating poor landlords and using language necessitating Sledge’s intervention, to dismantling a lot of the flimsy excuses Maestro brings forth when all he needs to say is ‘I don’t like it’, to finally finding the one apartment with which they’re both content. The uphill struggle is going to be worth it, he already knows this, because they’ll have a space belonging to both of them; a retreat from the world.

What he looks forward to the most is just Maestro being part of his life again so it feels less lopsided, more radiant than before, somehow _fuller_. He can feel it already, woke up a few times throughout the night due to no longer being used to sleeping next to someone, but fell asleep quickly again after pressing closer to the warm body. Feasting his eyes on him amplifies this feeling though there’s one more step up.

He reaches out and brushes over his lover’s ribs, sends his hand on a journey all over his chest. It’s late enough by now that he doesn’t feel bad about waking him, and when Maestro still doesn’t seem inclined to interrupt his sleep despite ceasing his snoring, Sledge travels a little further south and finds exactly what he expected. The hard flesh twitches against his light touch, remarkably sensitive even through the layer of fabric and burning hot. Remembering the velvety feel of it on his tongue makes him smile – he now has all the time in the world to do with it whatever he wants.

Still, he withdraws his hand and lets it glide over Maestro’s arms and shoulders instead, now with more insistence, and eventually he stirs, takes a deep breath and blinks at him sleepily. “Am I still dreaming?”, he mumbles and offers a brilliant smile when Sledge kisses him. In the mornings he’s always lazy and accepts displays of affection graciously like a benevolent cat, stretching into fond touches but not trying to aggressively return them like he normally would, and so Sledge uses the opportunity to play him like an instrument, making him hum and groan and sigh and ultimately knocking the air out of Sledge’s lungs by forcefully backing into him so they can spoon. Maestro hugs his arm, holds it close and kisses his fingertips in adoration while they cuddle.

“No”, Sledge answers quietly and squeezes him, “this is very real. I can pinch you if you want.” And before Maestro can object, Sledge catches one of his nipples between two fingers, prompting a surprised yelp and panicked swatting at his hand. It sparks a full on fight during which Maestro, still not entirely awake, is at a disadvantage though he manages to mostly trap Sledge in the blanket at some point. They wrestle giggling and relieved, trying to come out on top though the tide of battle shifts constantly. It helps that Maestro is extremely ticklish but he balances it out by bending Sledge’s fingers, forcing him to back off, and at some point they lose all balance and crash to the ground in a heap of limbs and with the blanket stuck somewhere between them.

Diana must’ve observed the tussle with concern as she immediately jumps at the chance to lick Sledge’s face in an attempt to appease him and is not at all deterred by him laughing, flailing as much as the circumstances allow and trying to push her away. He somehow convinces her to jump onto the bed, something she’d never refuse – and when he looks back up at Maestro, there’s moisture glistening in his brown eyes again. “My love”, he says gently and strokes over Maestro’s cheek, “you’ve cried enough.”

“I’m just so happy.” He puts his hand over Sledge’s and makes him smile with the subconscious gesture.

“Me too.” They kiss once more, unhurried and awkward due to their position yet neither one of them complains. “Come on, let’s make breakfast.”

 

Under normal circumstances, Sledge would’ve felt a little odd with how much they cling to each other no matter what it is they’re doing but seeing as they both crave harmony and reassurance, it’s a balm for their soul – every touch in passing, every small peck, the compliments and fond smiles, the light bickering, all of it contributes to an aura which must be almost tangible because when they go out in public, people around them can’t help but notice just how much they are in love.

The entire morning has a dreamlike quality to it, like one of the fantasies still painfully present in Sledge’s subconscious a month or two after Maestro left, haunting his nights and causing him to wake up with an aching heart and the wish for simpler times. Only this is wholly pain free, quite the opposite to those darker times and providing him with a series of images he’ll forever hold dear: Maestro, clad only in underwear and an apron, quietly singing one of the numerous love songs in his repertoire (few people have challenged him in the past due to his reputation – he really can sing next to every famous love song ever composed) to an attentive Diana who tilts her head from side to side as she ponders whether she should join in or not. The two of them sitting at the table, the corgi lady perched on Maestro’s lap and trying to snag a bite from everything he picks up until he aggressively snuggles her to defeat, making her roll up into a loaf and accept her fate with a sigh. Maestro standing naked in front of Sledge’s wardrobe, hands on his hips and a both disapproving and disappointed frown on his face and oh yes, this is also something they’ll inevitably argue about.

After Maestro has put on the clothes he finds least disagreeable, he insists on being driven to the base so he can pick up his most important belongings to which Sledge gladly obliges. Maestro spends half the trip complaining about how passionless the British drive (or really do anything) and the other half describing in impressive detail just why exactly he’s so over the moon to have Sledge back, and at some point the person behind them honks to indicate a green light Sledge missed because he was too busy snogging Maestro until neither of them could breathe anymore. It’s disgusting just how _infatuated_ they are and Sledge adores every second of it.

While they’re gathering Maestro’s possessions (and it’s a good thing Sledge brought a few extra bags), they’re graced with a visitor: Alibi is suddenly leaning against the door frame, arms crossed and expression soft, watching them in comfortable silence until Maestro asks her for the whereabouts of a few things, all of which she answers perfectly. She and Sledge exchange a few friendly words and it seems she’s thawed even more by now, entertains his dry observations with some of her own.

“Do you want to come by for dinner today?”, Sledge invites her on a whim not because he feels indebted but because he’s genuinely starting to enjoy her company.

She considers the offer for a moment and then nods. “Why not?”

“It’s been too long since I’ve cooked for you, luce del sole, make a request, anything, and I’ll prepare it for you.”

“Your paella is outstanding, would you do me the favour?”

Maestro throws Sledge an exasperated glance. “She can have all my mamma’s secret recipes, the full extent of Italian cuisine, and she chooses to go with something _Spanish_. You’re hanging around Elena too much, my dear, though I can’t say I’m not looking forward to hearing you use some of her curses. She’s got a fire in her rivalling yours, luce del sole.”

Alibi’s lips are curling into a smile by now. “You should invite your son as well, Seamus.”

“Yes, caro mio! Invite your cucciolo, I still need to make peace with him and what better way is there than through his stomach?”

Somehow, Sledge doubts Mute would appreciate the nicknames given to him by the Italians. He’s already on bad terms with both of them and avoids them whenever he can, though if Sledge really intends to further his friendship with Alibi, he’d better work on ensuring they all get along reasonably well. Still, he remembers Mute’s vaguely uncomfortable demeanour around Alibi ever since he misused one of Maestro’s Cleaves, and he hasn’t let the young man know about everything being cleared up between him and Maestro. It’s probably a good idea to just rip the plaster off in one go. “Alright, I’ll let him and James know. But please be nice despite everything, he was just a bit… overprotective.”

“I’ll be the most pleasant person he’s ever met”, Maestro agrees a little too quickly. “The food will be delicious and I the most gracious host, he’ll have no choice but to be convinced. I will _make_ him like me.”

And despite the commendable sentiment behind his words, they’re delivered forcefully, prompting Alibi and Sledge to exchange an amused glance. It feels good to have someone else who loves and knows Maestro just as well as he does and who’s potentially able to rein him in as well.

 

After unpacking back at Sledge’s apartment, they go for a long walk with Diana, letting her sprint free and fetch tennis balls Maestro throws even further than Sledge normally does. She relishes the exercise and barks excitedly, dancing around their legs even when she can barely still run and her tongue is almost reaching the floor with how much she pants. Sledge lets her drink and they walk back, the corgi proudly strutting ahead and their fingers interlaced.

He doesn’t miss the expectant look on Maestro’s face when they take off their shoes but he behaves for now, not wanting to disturb the peaceful atmosphere soothing both of them. “I have yet to decide on the full menu”, he announces and makes a beeline for the kitchen, peering into cupboards and inspecting the fridge and freezer. “Madonna, all the things I bought a while ago are still here, untouched. You really don’t cook for yourself, do you, amore? We still need to go shopping, I’m afraid.”

“I thought so.” Maestro rights himself with a grimace and moves his shoulders in a gesture very familiar to Sledge. “Is your back acting up again? Would you like a massage?”

“No, but thank you so much, luce dei miei occhi, I’m fine, just a little – _ow_!” He yelps as soon as Sledge presses down on a muscle known to cause problems and sighs in defeat at a raised eyebrow. “Alright, but don’t be so rough, you know I’m a delicate flower. Also, don’t even think about using my good olive oil for it!”

“Don’t worry, I can use my cheap one”, Sledge replies easily just to witness the indignation on Maestro’s face at the implication of something mocking all his ancestors combined touching his skin before he grins and presses a kiss to his lover’s temple. “I’ve got a relatively neutral massage oil, Adrianito, don’t look at me like that. Go undress and lie down.”

This part quite obviously appeals to the Italian and so he sheds most of the clothes he put on a mere hour ago within seconds, though he folds them carefully once he’s done so, and stretches out on the bed in giddy anticipation.

“All the way”, Sledge instructs him and earns a meaningful look he ignores, “you know your lower back is also tense and I don’t want to be blamed for ruining your designer underwear.”

It’s always amusing to him to see Maestro’s almost pale butt cheeks (which are still more tan than any part of Sledge’s body), courtesy of a lot of days at the beach and working under the sun without sunbathing naked. He fetches the aforementioned oil and takes off his own jeans for comfort before settling on Maestro’s thighs, reverently stroking the really quite fantastic ass in front of him. It’s plump and firm and perfect and undeniably one of his best assets.

“You know you can slap it if you want, tesoro”, comes a challenging murmur from somewhere inside his pillow into which Maestro has buried his face.

“This is supposed to be relaxing, not exciting.”

“I’m fully nude, in your bed, _and_ you’re sitting on me. I’ve had a raging boner ever since you told me to take my clothes off, cuore mio.”

Sledge chuckles and decides to take his word for it because he really does want nothing but help right now. For a moment longer, he admires the view of the broad, muscled back, the wide shoulders, narrow hips and voluptuous backside, then he slides up until he’s comfortably perched on the latter and begins warming up some of the oil in his hands.

It’s far from the first time they’ve done this and he fondly remembers the time Maestro cheekily asked him for a massage, clearly more interested in a happy ending than the process itself, and found out the hard way that Sledge had taken a few lessons from professional physical therapists in his lifetime. Maestro did end up cursing and groaning though not the _fun_ way, but when he realised it actually helped with pain and posture, he made a habit out of asking Sledge now and then when it was particularly bad. From the first few touches alone it’s obvious his lover is tense all over, so he makes a point out of digging his fingertips and hands in until he earns whimpers.

He works him thoroughly, focusing on the places he knows to be the worst but taking breaks now and then, gently brushing over the back of his neck, following the curve of his spine with the tip of a digit or making him huff a laugh by playing with his fingers by his sides,. Sledge hasn’t massaged anyone for the past years, had no lover for whom he could do this favour and so he appreciates the opportunity – it’s one of the rare occasions where he feels absolutely comfortable showering his partner with attention because he knows he’s good at this, there isn’t much he can do wrong, not with his intimate knowledge of Maestro’s body. It’s also one of the few occasions where Maestro just allows him to show affection without feeling the need to reciprocate – and this is when Sledge realises part of why he suggested this in the first place: he wants to make it up to his lover. He wants to pamper him. And this gives him another idea.

Curiously, he studies the man below him, between his legs, runs his fingers over the warm, shiny skin and kneads his shoulders, eliciting a blissful moan which gives the idea blooming in his head texture, colour, shape. On a whim, he takes his shirt off before continuing his merciless ministrations, pre-emptively silencing Maestro, and wrings a few more noises from him while he feels his own dick stiffen at the sight, the sounds, and also in anticipation. It fits perfectly between the moons of Maestro’s behind and after a while he has to keep himself from grinding against it.

As promised, he begins working on his lover’s lower back for which he has to slide down his thighs, once again exposing the fairer skin. Maestro is putty in his hands at this point, wholly relaxed and probably on the verge of falling asleep, even when Sledge’s hands glide over his hipbones, rest on the dip of his waist, dig into his glutes.

When he brushes over his hole with a thumb, however, Maestro startles.

They make eye contact as he turns around to blink at Sledge dazedly and with wide eyes, looking like he just woke up, lazy, disarmed and utterly captivating, and the mix of surprise and helpless _longing_ shoots directly into Sledge’s crotch, even more than feeling the ring of muscle pulse under his digit. “May I?”, he inquires politely and knows that under other circumstances, Maestro would comment on him sounding like he’s trying to ask someone for a dance, but right now he’s too overwhelmed and vulnerable and hopeful that he just breathes a simple _yes_. Sledge wisely takes his own underwear off before proceeding – right now, Maestro is still soft and agreeable so he should make use of it.

Since he doesn’t want to hurt him, he pours more oil into his hand, lets it drip down to where he needs it and then pushes it inside with a finger, marvelling not for the first time at the fact that Maestro trusts him so much he allows him to enter his body, to grant him access to something this private. The muscle relaxes immediately at the intrusion, makes it a smooth slide and welcomes the digit into its scorching, tight heat. Sledge doesn’t know what he expected but not anything this easy, possibly more resistance where there is next to none, surprisingly. He pushes in all the way, relishing the strangled sound coming from Maestro’s throat, withdraws mostly and strokes the rim with another finger, making his lover’s hips twitch.

Before he can stop himself, the words have already left his mouth as well as a sour aftertaste: “When’s the last time you’ve done this?” He doesn’t want to know, not really, just like he rarely asks about Maestro’s previous partners, keeps that part of his life carefully unfocused despite knowing he obviously outranks them seeing as Maestro chose him even after all that happened. And yet, he’s curious. Maybe it’s fishing for compliments, spurred on by the hope of hearing something like _you’ve always been better_ or _I imagined it was you_ , and he realises now how conceited and dumb the question is – it’s none of his business and he shouldn’t judge his lover for petty details like -

“You should know”, comes the muffled answer, “you were there.”

His brows rise and he’s rendered speechless though he still keeps with the program, gingerly inserts a second digit and takes note of the throaty groan which follows. Did he really not – the entire time? It’s hard to imagine, just as hard to picture him unable to cook, but then he remembers Mute’s words about how reserved he himself apparently was in the beginning despite enjoying company. Both of them seem to have been similarly affected by being ripped apart, adapting unfamiliar habits.

He leans down, lets Maestro meet him halfway and kisses the words off his lips, kisses the loneliness away and earns a content sigh as well as a smile indicating that the Italian does not stand for the mood slowly tipping over into wistfulness, not at all. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t practise in the meantime, caro mio”, he states with a cheeky grin which doesn’t even waver when Sledge begins scissoring his fingers. The feel of Maestro’s insides is extremely distracting and the thought of sinking into this delicious heat enticing to the point of wholly occupying.

“I suppose we both relied on silicone for a while, hm?” He remembers a time where he was as sick as a dog and bedridden, unable to do anything but _exist_ for the most part – but despite not being able to do anything himself, he delighted at Maestro’s suggestion to put on a show for him. To this day, Maestro insists it played a significant role in inspiring Sledge to recover more quickly so his lover could bounce on _him_ instead of his temporary substitute. The extremely relevant memory as well the funny things his imagination is doing right now focus the desire in him, direct it at the Italian smirking up at him.

“Sadly, I never quite found a good replacement for your huge, fat -”

“Alright, time to shut up with your odd version of sweet talking”, Sledge interrupts him with a grin and earns an amused lift of the brow but Maestro knows better than to argue, at least if he wants to keep going. And the way his hole keeps hungrily contracting around Sledge’s fingers indicates exactly that. He knows he doesn’t have an unlimited amount of time, however: Maestro will get impatient eventually and probably toss him off the bed again in his attempt to wrestle control back, disregarding all the hard work Sledge just put into getting him wholly relaxed, and maybe even throw his back out in the process. So he’d better hurry along.

When he inserts the third finger, a content moan makes it crystal clear just how much Maestro is enjoying this, in case his eager expression and anticipatory butt-wiggling wasn’t enough. It must be _killing_ him not to go into greater detail as to why this especially is the best thing he’s ever experienced but he often goes incoherent at this point, revelling in the sensations and rewarding every stroke over his prostate with a low growl and a clench of his fingers. The latent strength in his limbs is almost tangible, his thighs tensing under Sledge, his arms flexing in preparation – he knows the signs well, it’s pure benevolence with which Maestro lets him reign freely. He _allows_ Sledge to prepare him but at the first indication of weakness, he’ll strike with grace, hold Sledge down and take what’s his.

Which is exactly why Sledge reaches out and touches his fingertips to Maestro’s throat, making him flinch first and then relax into it. Not fully, his attack is merely delayed by this small detail. Or so he thinks. Sledge works him open patiently, slides his fingers deep inside until there’s no hint of resistance anymore. His own breathing is laboured now, their bodies heated, and he’s beginning of grow tired of waiting. “Are you ready?”, he asks just to make sure and gets a pained whine in return.

“I was ready ten minutes ago, amore mio”, Maestro complains and hisses when Sledge’s fingers withdraw to grab the bottle of massage oil again and pour some more into his palm.

“Not if you don’t want to spend the rest of the evening standing up.” He sits back down on Maestro’s behind, all the while careful not to remove his hand from his lover’s throat, and coats his own impatient erection liberally, making it throb in anticipation. He’s waited so long for this that he feels the need to appreciate the moment accordingly, therefore instead of pushing inside immediately, he rolls his hips against Maestro’s, letting his cock glide over the pulsing ring of muscle, and reminds himself that he waited more than three years for this man. And he’s convinced it was worth it. Maestro’s suffering mewls are music to his ears, so he teases him a little longer, wipes the excess oil off his free hand and gives one of the plump cheeks a hearty smack. “Adrianito”, he says and pushes the tip of his cock down a little so it gets caught on Maestro’s entrance on every slow grind, making him shudder and gasp, “I love you so much.”

“If you don’t put it in _right now_ , I’m leaving all my expensive cookware to Aria”, comes the grumpy reply, causing Sledge to huff a laugh and finally give in. Maestro goes completely still as soon as the thick head begins to breach him and, for the first time since Sledge has started fingering him, releases all the tension in his body even if the pulse Sledge feels under his fingertips is fast. The slide is remarkably easy despite his size and yet he takes his time, catches some of the oil dripping down with his fingers and uses it to facilitate the entry even more, feeling his shaft twitch at the heat surrounding it, the velvety feel of Maestro’s insides.

Once he’s all in, he leans down, props himself up next to Maestro’s head so he can keep touching his neck more easily and peppers his bearded cheek with affectionate kisses all the while Maestro is panting quietly and holding himself back with effort. It’s obvious how much he wants to fuck himself on Sledge’s cock now that he’s gotten a taste and it probably itches everywhere that he knows he can’t. “Let me go”, he demands but there’s no fire behind it, no confidence. He knows he’ll be let go when Sledge deems it time.

“No”, he replies simply and sucks a dark purple bruise onto his shoulder blade before nibbling at the nape of his neck. Only when Maestro’s tone of voice has slipped into pleading does he start moving, withdrawing no more than a few centimetres and pushing back in all very leisurely and this alone feels so _good_ he could come from it in less than two minutes if he wanted. It’s a deep grind and he tenses his buttocks with every single one, presses Maestro into the mattress and hums in satisfaction.

“You’re not gonna let me go, tesoro, are you?”, Maestro wants to know, sounding fatalistic.

Sledge grins into his hair. “No”, he repeats gleefully and earns a desperate noise in return. Oh, he’s going to enjoy this. Maestro clenches around him and it’s _divine_ , they still know each other so well, are still so familiar with each other’s bodies that he doesn’t need to search for Maestro’s sweet spot long before his lover begins producing sounds with every exhale: short, cut-off, _reluctant_ moans against which he’s powerless – he tries so hard to keep them in but can’t help himself. He doesn’t want Sledge to hear them because he doesn’t want him to know how good it feels, Sledge has noticed this trend before, and so he’s not fooled.

The longer it goes on and the longer he enjoys the scorching tightness pulsing around him, the more active and desperate Maestro becomes. He digs his fingertips into Sledge’s thighs painfully, hooks his feet around Sledge’s ankles, even begins moving against him though merely saying his name stops him in his tracks. He’s always preferred it hard and fast and though he can feel Sledge’s full length and should be happy enough with it, it’s clearly not enough for him. Sledge basks in his despair mostly because he knows he’ll eventually give Maestro what he wants, even if his lover doesn’t know it yet. With a gentle push to Maestro’s jaw, he convinces him to turn his head so they can kiss, exchange a few sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, the soft beard tickling him while he ups the tempo, still keeping the thrusts thorough yet without pulling out too far.

It’s a heady rush how well Maestro responds to him, probably a result of having to relinquish all control which he, despite all his protests, secretly enjoys now and then or else he wouldn’t have agreed to honour the very thing Sledge is abusing right now to keep him docile. When his fingers curl around Maestro’s throat properly, threatening to close, the Italian interrupts the loving kisses to grant him better access with a few strangled moans, giving up his iron grip on one of Sledge’s thighs to instead claw into his wrist, provoking him, _daring_ him to push down. “No”, Sledge murmurs into his ear with a smile and pulls on it with his teeth, earning an irritated huff, “I’m not doing it.”

Before Maestro can complain, Sledge switches to deep and hard strokes, withdrawing almost all the way before slamming back in and _yes_ , oh yes, this is _good_. The friction is electrifying and the tightness around his cock honey sweet, not to mention the slap of skin on skin is extremely satisfying in itself. Maestro smells fantastic, a mix of sweat, oil and his cologne, and Sledge loses himself in it, in the broken noises he produces and the marvellous feeling of thrusting into him over and over. He could do this for hours, just relish the dizzying heat and forget about the rest of the world, simply enjoy this gorgeous body, bask in Maestro’s company.

The moans are getting louder, so he’s doing something right, but he doesn’t want their first time after being reunited to end with him simply fucking Maestro into the mattress, therefore he pauses and catches his breath for a moment before sliding out. He instantly feels Maestro tense up in anticipation, hoping he’ll get to run wild any moment now, but instead Sledge just tells him: “Sit up. Come on, luv.” It’s a little awkward to bring them both to an upright kneel without letting go of Maestro’s neck yet they eventually manage just as Sledge realises how worked up he is already.

His dick keeps jumping eagerly, longing to be back inside, his breath is heavy and his mind hazy – even if anyone asked him to, he wouldn’t be able to stop now, he’ll fuck this man to completion no matter what it takes. The muscles dancing under Maestro’s glistening skin only serve to heighten his unbearable arousal and when they’re finally pressed against each other again, he’s so rock hard that burying himself in Maestro’s hole in one smooth slide is an easy task, leaving both of them panting. His free arm snakes around Maestro’s torso, wanders over his impressive pecs and abs, digs into his large thighs and finally cradles his balls gently all the while Sledge picks up the thrusts again, slow but deep.

Maestro seems fully occupied with staying upright judging by his strained sounds. His dark cock bounces with every thrust but it’s not enough for Sledge, he wants him to lose his mind fully, and so he adjusts the angle until Maestro suddenly groans loudly. There it is. He speeds up again, prompting a disbelieving whine and feels Maestro’s erection jump against his hand, feels it again when he begins massaging his scrotum and gets additionally rewarded with a hand on his ass, probably looking for support. He should really do this more often, it’s addicting to have this otherwise so intense man completely at his mercy.

“Faster”, Maestro whispers and it’s not a plea this time, it’s an instruction and thus Sledge follows it. They both know what he’s aiming for and he knows better than to ignore directions at this point, not if wants to feel his lover come around him and bloody hell, he _very_ much wants that. After a while, he’s again slamming his hips against Maestro’s ass, the two of them moaning in unison and _still_ he touches his throat, keeps him in check and therefore Maestro has no choice but to take it, unmoving, head tilted back against Sledge’s shoulder and desperately holding on to the arm wrapped around him. The hand has slipped lower, is stroking over his perineum, brushes over his rim now and then and feels the contractions trying to help things along in Maestro’s lower body. The next words send a shiver down Sledge’s spine: “Don’t stop.”

It means he’s close, painfully so, and Sledge forces himself to stop moaning into Maestro’s hair to instead peek over his shoulder as he keeps moving against him. The build-up is sensational: Maestro goes increasingly taut in his arms, his breathing shallow and quick despite him moaning with abandon, fully lost in his impending climax, fingers shaking and toes curling against Sledge’s legs – and then it releases all at once with a deep groan, his relief palpable. His hole convulses around Sledge while his cock twitches violently, ejecting come with every bounce while Sledge basically fucks it out of him, watching both proudly and incredibly turned on. It’s indescribably hot and stunning simultaneously, titillating and warming his heart.

He slows down once the trembling begins to subside and helps Maestro come down gently, kisses the side of his neck with adoration, strokes over his chest, squeezes him reassuringly while Maestro sighs in satisfaction and once more becomes a heap of loose limbs just like during the massage. And despite his cock throbbing insistently, part of Sledge wants nothing more than to wrap around Maestro and laze around for the rest of the day, do nothing but _look_ at this beautiful man, make him laugh, kiss him breathless. The urge is so strong that he hugs him properly, smiling at the purr with which the gesture is met… and not at all considering the mistake he just made.

Because he just let go of Maestro’s neck.

The next thing he knows is that the world tilts and he somehow manages to hit the mattress _hard_ which shouldn’t be possible seeing as it’s, well, a mattress, but he does so anyway with a small _oof_ , adds a bigger _oof_ when a firm hand pushes down on his chest to erase any thought of escape and then Maestro is perched on top of him, forces Sledge to look him in the eye with a painful grip on his jaw. He manages to look smug, anticipatory and enraged simultaneously and hisses _I’m not done_ right before he impales himself on his unwaveringly hard cock, making Sledge’s eyelids flutter. True to his words, he’s also still erect and still _very much_ in the mood.

He rides like a young God. It’s one of the things Sledge loves about him most in the bedroom, he just knows exactly what he’s doing and where he wants to go with it and precisely how to get there – he’s always deadly serious about it and not above inflicting pain to stop Sledge from interfering, be it by biting or with the help of his fingernails but sometimes it’s too much fun to tease him anyway. For a short while though, Sledge is still too overwhelmed from the unexpected stimulation, blinking up at his lover dazedly and processing the wonderful sensations flooding over him all of a sudden.

Maestro looks like a King on his throne, like he’d waited an inordinate of time to be where he is and now that he’s achieved his goal, he’s _loving_ it. However, when Sledge’s hands creep up his thighs to curl around his hipbones in an attempt to slow him down, guide his merciless movements, Maestro narrows his eyes at him and slaps the hands away, more forcefully when they return. “No”, he growls, “you don’t get to do this.”

What he means to say is that Sledge already got what he wanted, he had it slow, he made Maestro come, it’s not his gig anymore. And it’s so endearing and sexy and so much like _him_ that Sledge pulls him down for a burning kiss, lacing their fingers together when Maestro flails in protest. He gives in regardless, gasps into Sledge’s mouth as he licks over his scar and plays with his tongue – and the entire time, he never breaks his rhythm. It’s impressive as well as an amplifier for the blinding desire coursing through Sledge’s body at this point, caused by the way Maestro relentlessly brings his hips down, fucks himself harshly rather than allowing Sledge to do the honour and even does it flawlessly like so many times before.

The passionate making out merely serves to heighten both their arousals, Maestro once again getting louder and louder while Sledge joins him with low groans and appreciative hums, fighting the urge to meet Maestro’s motions which grows stronger by the second – but if he gives in, he’ll probably end up on the floor and with a hand at _his_ throat while Maestro rides both of them to completion. The prospect admittedly isn’t too bad but his entire body is tingling, his lust a steady, sharp pull, and his release calling to him sweetly. He’d rather come sooner than later.

“Are you close?”, his lover asks after withdrawing and once again settling on him like he _belongs_ , fixing him with half-lidded eyes and casually brushing over a nipple, startling a moan out of Sledge. He replies with a nod because he can feel it in his fingertips already, looming at the horizon, threatening to tip him over. His answer only makes Maestro double his efforts, lean back and prop himself up on Sledge’s legs as he arches his back while thrusting down, his own erection jutting out proudly and looking so inviting that Sledge can’t help himself. He reaches out and wraps a hand around it, prompting a warning look from Maestro which turns into a playful yet strained grin when Sledge isn’t deterred by Maestro repeatedly pushing him away and instead returns every time.

In the end, he sits up and cradles Maestro in his arms, interrupting his movements and sparking both exasperation and amusement as they kiss once more, this time deeply and with full focus. Even though they’ve paused, Sledge’s cock throbs viciously, frustrated with the delay yet providing noticeable pleasure to the Italian if his purrs are any indication. “At this rate we’re gonna fuck until our guests arrive”, Maestro complains in between kisses but the smile on his lips gives away his true thoughts about that prospect. Sledge buries a hand in his sweaty hair and wanders lower with his mouth, leaves behind a wet trail until he can suck on one of Maestro’s nipples at which a hand curls around his head instinctively.

“Keep moving”, he murmurs and Maestro obliges with a content sigh, rolls his hips against Sledge’s and does the best he can with what little space he’s being given. It feels even better like this, more intimate and much hotter, his moans in Sledge’s ear, both of them holding on to each other. He won’t last long like this and so he takes hold of his lover’s dick again, this time uncontested, and massages it, grasps it more firmly and begins tugging in time with the movements while the tip of his tongue circles the sensitive flesh before him, toying with the nipple and turning Maestro’s moans deliciously throaty. Several curses escape him and his thighs are trembling, just like Sledge’s. Both of them speed up, gasping for air – and then Maestro comes a second time.

It’s even prettier than the first, especially because his hot come spatters Sledge’s chest this time – he’s writhing in Sledge’s arms again, riding out his orgasm all by himself this time, wanting to fold in half but only buries his teeth in Sledge’s shoulder while he shudders violently and irregularly, lost to the world and _keening_ , allowing Sledge deep inside with every additional motion and thrusting into his fist simultaneously. The contractions around Sledge’s cock are utterly divine and the elation of feeling his lover come a second time is almost vicious.

A few seconds later, despite floating on his post-climactic haze, Maestro is still alert enough to keep moving against Sledge and quietly ask: “Come on, luce dei miei occhi, come inside me. I’ve waited so long. Please.”

How can he refuse? How could he, when the insistent pull has become a fierce need, aching to be sated, preoccupying his mind above all? He’s completely tense by now, embracing his lover tightly and panting against his collarbone, suddenly desperate for release, can still feel Maestro clenching down on him, dragging him towards the edge with whispered words of encouragement, tilting his jaw up and forcing him to look into coffee brown eyes, fixed on him in giddy anticipation.

At Sledge’s very first groan, a smile forms in the face opposite of his own, so dazzling and beautiful it nearly blinds him as he holds his lover still the moment he stumbles over the edge. He does his best to hold Maestro’s gaze even though his eyes threaten to fall shut due to the wondrously gratifying sensations washing over him all at once: it’s overpowering relief accompanying every tensing of his muscles, magnified pleasure rushing through his body and numbing his mind for several eternal seconds while he comes deep inside Maestro, cock pulsing and appreciating the conscious contractions prolonging the overwhelming satisfaction. If it didn’t feel so fucking _amazing_ he’d be vaguely embarrassed by the devoted look in Maestro’s eyes as he marvels at all the expressions Sledge is undoubtedly producing but as it is, the release is all he can think of.

It’s made so much better knowing this is only the first of many times they’ll do this from now on. While he slowly relaxes in Maestro’s loose hug, catches his breath and basks in the afterglow, Maestro kisses the side of his head affectionately and strokes soothingly over his skin. They’re both sated and sweaty yet unwilling to let go of each other. Coming down from his surprisingly intense orgasm is gentle and lovely, especially because Maestro keeps pecking the corner of his mouth even though he knows it’s extremely ticklish when he does that. They smile at each other, exchanging a last, short kiss, then Sledge falls back onto the bed and Maestro rolls off of him with a grunt.

“I’m getting old, caro mio”, the Italian grumbles and rearranges his limbs with a few more groans. “Maybe I just need another massage.”

“I disagree.” Sledge tilts his head until he can look his partner in the eyes again. “You bloody threw me over your shoulder. I weigh even more than you do.”

This earns him a hearty chuckle and absolutely no remorse. “Ah you know, heat of the moment and all. Besides, you can’t fucking _do_ that the first time we have sex again, caramellino, if you’d kept up that slow pace the whole time I’d have oversalted your plate later.”

“There’s absolutely no chance you’d have done that.”

Maestro considers his retort for a moment and then pouts. “No. I wouldn’t have. But don’t you dare do that again.”

After they’ve cooled off a little, he crawls to Sledge’s side and begins drawing patterns on his stomach with the drops that haven’t dried yet. It’s obvious neither of them is willing to move, afraid of possibly saying or doing the wrong thing and changing the entire atmosphere. Even so, Sledge enjoyed himself and knows Maestro did, too, and in hindsight he’s glad they’ve waited until they had enough time to properly indulge in each other, to ease into it all organically instead of giving in to physical desire much earlier. He reaches up and touches the familiar colours right over Maestro’s heart and prompts a grin from both of them.

“No matter what you say, Adrianito, this will never not be horribly cheesy.”

“You were so adorably dumbstruck when you first saw it though. Be honest, you fell back in love a little bit when you did.”

“My love, I already know you’ll get that adoring look on your face when I say this but I’m going to say it regardless: I never really fell out of love with you.” And exactly as predicted, Maestro’s features grow soft and helpless and while it’s admittedly adorable, it’s also _too much_. “Let’s go shower, alright?”

“Cuore mio, you’re _killing_ me when you’re embarrassed. You’re the most precious thing, I don’t even know what to do with you, I love you endlessly. No, don’t leave, let me smooch you until you’re blushing even more.”

In the end, Sledge has to carry a still-cooing Maestro to the bathroom or else they’d never make it out of bed. Regardless, his cheeks hurt from smiling and it doesn’t get any better when they playfully fight over who washes whom first. While Maestro lathers up his sullied torso, he shampoos Maestro’s hair and is painfully aware of how much disgust they’ll inevitably garner as soon as they go back to work – they’re wholly in the honeymoon phase now, everything exciting and romantic and so sharply vivid that Sledge can’t even pretend to dislike any part of it. Not that he would, he’s decidedly too delighted about it all. Hugging under the comfortably warm stream of water is so laughably cosy that they probably single-handedly double his water bill for this month as they let it rain down on them a perceived eternity.

Maestro dresses haphazardly, no more than an unbuttoned shirt and underwear – mostly for Diana’s benefit really – and then sets out to start preparing the meal he came up with under the shower after writing a shopping list for Sledge with which he throws him out the door. Once he’s returned with all the necessary groceries, Sledge is vehemently barred from helping but warmly invited to watch and so he lounges on a chair and scratches Diana’s ears while listening to his lover loudly sing terrible love songs as well as amusedly observing the way Maestro’s buttocks clench as he cuts vegetables. He put on an apron which he _always_ makes work for him somehow, effortlessly bustling around the kitchen and interrupting the cheesy lyrics now and then to reply to something Sledge said or to tell him a short anecdote he just thought of. Halfway through, Sledge gets up to start cleaning after Maestro so he has enough space to keep working.

He’s decided on a summery salad largely made of white asparagus and cantaloupe with an orange dressing which smells divine already as well as a dark mousse au chocolat with passion fruit coulis for dessert. Maestro patiently explains to Sledge the differences between coulis, jus and juice while Sledge unashamedly gropes him and pretends to understand. It’s more than an hour ago that they slept with each other and Maestro’s unkempt hair and casual attire are… _doing_ things to Sledge’s nether regions he’s not even trying to suppress because really, there’s no reason to hold back anymore. Except maybe that they’re expecting people in about two hours. Ten minutes later, he’s got both hands shoved into Maestro’s briefs and is enthusiastically leaving love bites on every piece of skin he can possibly reach, entirely unconcerned by Maestro’s endeavours to continue cooking.

“As much as I’m in favour of fucking like rabbits for the rest of the day, luce dei miei occhi, I do want to eat something later”, Maestro points out in mock indignation though he quite obviously revels in the attention with which he’s being showered. “Can you wait for half an hour?”

“I can _molest_ you for half an hour”, Sledge makes a perfectly viable counter-suggestion, melting against the Italian’s back, and grins when Maestro sets down his utensils with a sigh. “You’re irresistible.”

“Says the man who has no trouble rejecting me with flimsy excuses like ‘I’m working’, ‘we’re in public’ or ‘we literally just fucked’.” They make eye contact over his shoulder and this is Maestro’s mistake, he’s always been weak for Sledge’s smile and is therefore unable to resist the scorching kiss which follows and leaves both of them slightly frazzled. “Okay. You know what, amore? Fuck the paella.”

Sledge ends up uncomfortably shoved onto the couch, barely able to adjust his position before Maestro has swallowed him whole while holding him down. His orgasm mere minutes later (and holy hell, that was fast) makes him see stars, aided by the digit pushed inside to heighten his pleasure and excelling at doing exactly that. He’s left stunned and vaguely imbalanced which Maestro notices _extremely_ smugly and with an added: “Don’t interfere with my cooking, tesoro.”

 

When his friends arrive later, Maestro rushes to the door to greet Smoke with a peck on each cheek and Mute with another kiss straight on his lips (probably for old times’ sake), leaving him to angrily wipe his mouth as soon as the Italian darts back into the kitchen to fetch them a glass of champagne. While Maestro puts the finishing touches on their meal in the kitchen and animatedly chats with Alibi who arrived before the two other guests, the three SAS operators sit down in the living room, Mute on the floor next to Diana who immediately rolls over for him and allows him to rub her belly.

“I don’t even like champagne”, the young man complains quietly, prompting a snort from his other half.

“But you’re not gonna turn down free alcohol, babe.”

“I should probably explain”, Sledge begins but Mute merely shakes his head without returning his gaze, sounding laconic in his reply.

“Nothing to explain. Not like I can change your mind about him anyway.”

The other two exchange a glance and going by Smoke’s eye roll, Mute has already done his fair share of bitching on the way here. “Mark. I don’t know how much you know, but -”

“I know you’ve been fucking miserable despite claiming everything was fine, so whatever’s going on, I’m not buying it. You can play pretend and flaunt your supposedly perfect relationship all you want, but it’s not going to convince me.”

Yikes. It seems Mute can read him better than he was aware because in hindsight, he really was devastated up to the point he talked to Alibi – though Mute is missing this vital piece of information. “We cleared everything up yesterday though. We had an honest heart to heart.”

“Oh, did you finally chat with Aria?”, Smoke butts in nonchalantly and makes Sledge still. Only when he notices the shocked gaze do Smoke’s eyes widen. “Oh whoops. Forget I said anything.”

“You _knew_?”, Sledge wants to know, aghast.

“Knew what?” Mute looks up, confused and concerned. “What did you know, James?”

“That Seamus was jealous as all hell of her even though there was nothing going on. But he refused to talk to her about it, so he didn’t know there was nothing. She would’ve told him.”

He says it like he just remembered what he ate the day before and not like it could’ve been potentially life-changing for Sledge to have addressed this sooner. “How do you know about this?”, he asks, still too astonished to be angry.

“We got piss drunk together one day and she mentioned it.”

Ah. That would actually explain it all. Still, Mute seems deeply unimpressed with his boyfriend. “I swear, you only know what’s going on in the world because I let you know you one half and you piece the other half together from the shit people tell you when you’re pissed. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? Or at least Seamus?”

Smoke scoffs. “Have you _looked_ at her? She’s terrifying. The next day she almost literally twisted my arm and made me promise not to let anyone know, not even Maestro. She wanted you to address it yourself, mate. I even tried to subtly let you know but sometimes you’re as dense as a brick. No offence.”

And oh, yes. Suddenly Sledge remembers, thinks back of the day Mute misused Maestro’s gadget, recalls the short conversation he had with Smoke about Mute supposedly being jealous. _He’s head over heels for you_ , Sledge dismissed his concerns to which Smoke replied: H _ow can I know for sure? What if he wanted you but you turned him down so he settled for me?_ He feels the sudden urge to smack his own forehead for how slow he is. There was no way Smoke would’ve thought Mute jealous, absolutely none, and that alone should’ve tipped him off. His responses were so obviously referring to Sledge’s situation that he’s ashamed of not catching it at all. _Just ask him_ , he had the audacity to tell Smoke and fully deserved the retort: _But what if I’m insecure and don’t dare to ask? Or what if I’m pig-headed and think I already have all the answers?_

“That’s why you were so skittish, right?”, Mute wants to know with a frown.

With a sigh, Sledge elaborates as best he can without revealing what Alibi asked him to keep secret – which sadly means he has to sacrifice credibility in his repeated assurances that she and Maestro are just friends. He stresses that all issues are resolved, however, no more doubts hiding in dusty corners of his mind, no mistrust left between Maestro and him, quite the opposite actually; he emphatically repeats they’ve talked it all through and implies they’re madly in love for good now. Mute, though vaguely unconvinced, eventually relents and seems to accept his decision yet meets Maestro’s endeavours to win him over with caution.

Even so, the evening ends up being surprisingly pleasant: Smoke has long established a casual friendship with the two Italians and Mute and Alibi find a variety of specialised topics they can discuss, from the way their gadgets work in detail to gun specifications but also, oddly, professional chess and poker competitions. Maestro is the perfect host despite technically not even living in Sledge’s apartment yet, ensures the three courses are presented and delivered without a hitch and, as usual, they’re delicious. Mute grudgingly admits it’s the best meal he’s had in years and Maestro in his typical fashion immediately offers (or maybe threatens) to provide him with food for the rest of his life.

And at some point, Sledge sips his wine and looks at the four people in front of him, Mute and Alibi engrossed in the specifics of something neither of the other people present have a chance to understand, Maestro and Smoke reminiscing on the most hilarious injuries they witnessed in their line of duty and wearing easy grins. The scene before him, all of it, is so fiercely beautiful that he’s content merely observing for a minute, thinks back to the day Six announced the new additions to Rainbow, thinks back to the feeling of _my life is going to change_. And he’s intensely grateful that it did.

 

This time, at Smoke’s gentle urging (and Sledge throws him several thankful glances for it), his teammates don’t stay the night. After they’ve all said their goodbyes, Mute lingers while looking unsure and Maestro picks up on it, kisses Sledge and withdraws into the kitchen to allow them a few moments alone.

Watching the young man fidget and avert his gaze is oddly endearing, especially when he eventually murmurs: “You know… he’s alright.”

Sledge’s smile almost hurts his cheeks. “He is, isn’t he.” Mute nods reluctantly. “I really can’t blame you for your attitude towards him. I think you picked up on my own insecurities and doubts and merely mirrored them – if even I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing, how could you have been?”

Another nod. “You’re probably right.”

“And I bet you can just as well pick up on how I feel about him now.”

“Yeah.” Mute meets his gaze and grins a little. “It’s bloody gay.”

Wordlessly, Sledge pulls him into a hug which gets reciprocated after initial hesitation. They’re normally not big on touching, usually convey whatever is necessary through words or gestures but not displays of affection like this – right now, however, Sledge deems it appropriate and Mute seems to agree. They’re both relieved, Sledge about Mute’s beginning acceptance, Mute about Sledge’s peace of mind, and so they squeeze each other before letting go and exchanging a smile. “Thanks for looking out for me.” And then, just to make sure neither of them has to cringe too hard at the uncomfortably heartfelt words: “I guess you have two dads now.”

Before Mute can even retaliate, laughter echoes through the staircase coming from Smoke and Alibi who hereby reveal themselves as eavesdroppers, only making Mute’s face darken. “I hate you all”, he grumbles, “except for you, Diana. You can do nothing wrong, princess.” He squats down, gives her a last kiss to the head and leaves, still muttering to himself and shaking his head.

Grinning to himself, Sledge joins his lover in the kitchen to help him clean up and finds him eyeing the remains of the dessert thoughtfully. It was a breathtaking balance of sweet, bitter and tart – the passion fruit a refreshing counterpart to the heavy mousse. “Can I have the rest?”, Sledge asks hopefully, dips a finger into the fluffy mass of heavenly chocolate and sucks on it.

Maestro raises a brow. “You’re going to get fat, biscottino”, he tells him matter-of-factly, “and as much as I’d love to have _more_ of you, I have another suggestion: how about I lick it off your body while slowly wanking you with the good coconut oil. How does that sound?”

He has to admit, it sounds extremely intriguing even if it means Sledge won’t get to eat any more of the dessert. “Why coconut?”

“It goes best with the other flavours for when I eventually suck it off your balls.”

Sledge’s lips twitch. “I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but I missed your filthy mouth. Let’s go then.”

The spark in his lover’s eyes speaks of amusement just as much as arousal. “I carry the necessary ingredients, you carry me, vita mia.”

And while Sledge gladly obliges, knowing full well that it’s always been a turn on for Maestro that they were evenly matched in strength even if Sledge often allows him to have the upper hand, he reacquaints himself with the clever tongue which is indubitably going to utterly wreck him in a few minutes. He really shouldn’t be surprised at how seamlessly Maestro fits back into his life, though it’s more than just filling the hole his absence left behind. This time, their bond is stronger, their mutual understanding deeper, their lives interwoven in a way which will withstand impressive amounts of damage and hold even if they accidentally sabotage it themselves.

It will hold. He feels it on his skin, knows it in his heart and has no doubts left in his thoughts.


End file.
